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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28016760">until i wrap myself inside your arms, i cannot rest</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/dumdum69/pseuds/dumdum69'>dumdum69</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Voltron: Legendary Defender</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(its the keberos mission so nobiodys really dead but just in case), Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Lance (Voltron), Cowboy Keith (Voltron), Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Galaxy Garrison, Galra Keith (Voltron), Gay Disaster Keith (Voltron), Gay Keith (Voltron), Humor, Hunk (Voltron) is a Good Friend, Hunk (Voltron) is so Pure, Hurt/Comfort, KIND OF????? A wee little bit i think, Keith (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, Keith (Voltron) is a Mess, LOWKEY but i have the BIGGEST boner for cowboy keith, Lance (Voltron) is a Mess, M/M, OH THERE'S SIDE HUNAY TOO forgot to mention, Pining Keith (Voltron), Pining Lance (Voltron), Slow Burn, Temporary Character Death, Texan Keith (Voltron), Touch-Starved Keith (Voltron), Trans Pidge | Katie Holt, also MINOR ALLURANCE but like klance is the main ship obvi, hunk is a REAL ONE yall! get urself a hunk, lance is so stupid and keith is so stupid they are both morosexuals, like SLOWER than SLOW we're going for period drama levels of unresolved sexual tension here, the SLOOOOOOOOOOOOWESSTTTT of burns</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 21:27:52</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>36,204</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28016760</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/dumdum69/pseuds/dumdum69</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Because there's something unyielding about even Keith's soft moments, like now, when he's grinning into Lance's cheek, chapped lips curled up against Lance's skin like steam, breath hot like smoke in the summertime. Like there's something that Keith is reaching for, something sizzling, bone-hot inside of Lance's body, the thing that Lance has kept wrapped up in layers, the wool over his heart and eyes, all fragile and sticky like cotton candy. Lance knows Keith doesn't have that thing - he couldn't, not with the way he's so easy about all of this, the way he's just letting his body burn against Lance's own, all corded tendons and angel fire. It simply couldn't happen.</p><p>And Lance, who's been running on glimmer and grins and shots all evening, can't help but stiffen up, because it's Keith , you know? And it hurts , being so close to him, because it's the type of solid, warm body-closeness that feels like a bruise, the kind you want to press harder and harder into until it bursts into ... something else.<br/>____________________________________________________________________________________</p><p>[a.k.a Lance and Keith and the perils of falling in love in space]</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Keith/Lance (Voltron)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>105</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>166</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. hell and high water</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>HI YALL!! ive been lurking in the shadows of the voltron fandom for millennia and then quarantine and finals happened and i was like. this is IT it is TIME for my FANDOM DEBUT....this hasnt been beta-read or anything, but....i really wanted to practice my writing and i love klance with all my heart so here it is!! tthe spacing ended up a lil funky in this chapter - im planning on doing multiple chapters but i have no clue how long itll be in total, so if you read this, THANK YOU SO MUCH I LOVE YOU!!! this is my very first fanfic ever so please be gentle!!!!! &lt;3333</p><p>  <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1EpckbLc5sGKPTUkcbIvL3?si=cLnesfAHT6WPBL_cNY789w">spotify playlist for this fic!</a></p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Lance is fourteen, five feet and six inches of bravado, homesickness, and crooked legs. High off the removal of his braces the week before school started and desperate for friendship, he's smiling at everything, a big, white, forged from Varadero sunshine, blinding smile. Waiting for class to start, he's tapping on his thighs restlessly, until a boy slumps into the seat next to him.</p><p>Immediately, he whips to the side, ready to pounce at the possibility of potential friendship, proffering his big, bony hand. "The name's Lance." he says, patented McClain charm cranked to a million watts. The boy is too small and too thin, back coiled with tension, with furry, knotted dark hair, hollowed cheeks, and a snaggletooth, and the sharpest, most violet eyes Lance has ever seen. The boy stares (glares?) at the appendage Lance is offering him for what is probably the longest thirty seconds of Lance's life. He can feel his cheeks aching from smiling, and is about to retreat his hand, when the boy grasps his palm and digs his thumb into the big vein on his upper wrist delicately, as though he is a mother cat and Lance's sweaty, boogery, pubescent boy hand is the downy scruff of a kitten’s neck. God, what the <em>fuck</em> is this guy's deal? He's making jarring eye contact with Lance the entire time, and Lance is still holding up his shaky smile, although he bets at this point it looks more like he's baring his teeth at the boy. Lance's eyes flicker to the snaggletooth, pressing into the boy's chapped bottom lip, back up to the supernova blaze of his eyes, and holy shit, why is this handshake so fucking <em>tense</em>? The boy is still staring at Lance, eyes wide and fiery, and the blunt nail of his thumb begins to dig into his vein, when Iverson walks in and smacks a metal ruler against the desk to gain the class' attention. The boy instantly drops Lance's wrist like it's a fire poker and sits ramrod straight, and never makes eye contact again with Lance for the next few months of the class.</p><p>Lance finds out that the weird boy's name is Keith Kogane, and he's somewhat of a flying prodigy. The Garrison's mystery meat and freeze-dried vegetable mush cafeteria diet infamously makes everyone lose weight (and their appetites) in their first year, but Kogane somehow gets bigger, shooting up like a root to Lance's height, and gaining some burgeoning, wiry, musculature. Lance speculates that the kid was malnourished before the Garrison, with the way he gargles down every nasty, smelly meal in twenty seconds flat like it'll be his last, and then goes for seconds, and then thirds, and sometimes fourths. Not that Lance is paying special attention to him, of course - it's just that Kogane, despite his social ineptitude, is somehow the center of attention no matter where he goes.</p><p>Kogane aces the flight simulators and all of his classes and fucking broods all around campus, and this, along with his dark hair and sorrowful eyes and rumored motorcycle, means Kogane becomes somewhat of a heartthrob at the Garrison, a false god to the girls who pine mistily after the damaged, soulful, Edward Cullen slash Sexy Gang Leader From A Wattpad Self-Insert Story breed of bad boy. On top of that, Takashi Shirogane, Lance’s hero and the very reason he even entered the Garrison in the first place, lets Kogane hang off of him like a leech. Kogane follows Captain Shirogane around like a lost puppy — people say that Kogane is basically Shirogane’s little brother, that they’ve seen them practicing flying together in the desert, eating lunch together, laughing together… Lance can picture it all too clearly, Shirogane’s golden smile and gentle eyes, beaming down at runty, scraggly Kogane, and Kogane cracking open like an egg in turn, learning Shirogane’s ear-to-ear, crinkle-eyed, full body smile, sunshine yellow, gooey, tender yolk for Shirogane only. He’d never ever, ever, admit it, but... Lance kind of wishes that he could see it too.</p><p>So, yeah, Lance fucking hates Kogane. He doesn't get how Kogane became so popular - he tells everyone he can about his bizarre first meeting with Kogane, where the guy cradled Lance's wrist and stared into his eyes like a psycho instead of just greeting Lance like a normal person, and instead of agreeing and talking shit about Kogane with Lance, they shrug and somehow Lance becomes the weird one for even bringing it up, as though maybe Lance in particular is somehow so intrinsically offensive in his very existence to Kogane, that he actually warrants being treated that fucking weirdly.</p><p>Lance, fueled by spite and a bone-deep need for approval, pits himself against Keith in his classes, working tirelessly to improve his grades. He joins a zillion different extracurriculars, convinces Commander Iverson to let him into the simulator for extra practice after hours. His grades improve drastically, and he still sucks at the simulator, but manages to pull the occasional flamboyant trick shot. Once, a couple of kids come up to Lance after class to tell him how cool one of his maneuvers was, and he flips his curls, winks and flashes a megawatt grin, saying "They call me 'The Tailor' because of how I thread that needle, baby!". He'd been practicing that line in the mirror for weeks, but after he says it, nobody really comes to congratulate him on his cool flight maneuvers anymore. But somehow, Kogane can just swan into a room with his floppy hair curling around his neck, big, dumb forehead gleaming like marble under his bangs, rogue tooth catching his bottom lip, and fluorescent lights making his violet eyes gleam like jewels, and time seems to totally stop.</p><p>The only person even remotely sympathetic to his Anti-Keith campaign is his roommate, a thoughtful, warm, six foot two teddy bear of a boy named Hunk, who immediately became his best friend after they discovered that Hunk's interest in cooking and Lance's interest in eating mutually benefited one another.</p><p>"Look at him." Lance sneers to Hunk, jealousy in full bloom after Kogane executes a particularly impressive spin in the flight simulator. "Fuckin' showoff. I bet I could do that too.". Lance crosses his arms, and Hunk pats his shoulder sympathetically without comment. Kogane finishes his run with flying colors, and steps out of the simulator with his team, hair slightly mussed and eyes glinting pridefully. He's grown even more in the past couple of years - he's certainly not as tall as six-foot-of-gangly Lance, but he's all compact, whipcord muscle like a Rottweiler, and the orange Garrison uniform strains slightly around the flex of his shoulders when he rolls them back. "Why is his uniform so fucking tight? Who's he trying to impress, huh?" Lance complains. Hunk's warm eyes narrow, fixing Lance with a thoughtful expression. Lance is glaring straight forward as Commander Iverson claps Kogane on the back in praise, partially searching for more things to deride Kogane for, and partially trying to avoid his friend's shrewd gaze.</p><p>Hunk sighs, wringing his hands nervously, "Look, Lance, I... I don't think...Keith’s a bad guy? I think he's just...really, really, really, really awkward, and you guys got off on a bad foot. I mean, I don't think grabbing your hand and gazing into your eyes was like, actively malicious, so much as it was that...maybe he's just a really weird, but ultimately harmless, guy? And that was like...three years ago, so I don't know, he might've gotten more normal since then?"</p><p>Lance feels his ears burn. "Are you kidding me? Nobody grows out of acting like a fucking serial killer. I've seen Criminal Minds, Hunk - once a bedwetting arsonist puppy strangler, always a bedwetting arsonist puppy strangler. Like...he keeps a goddamn butcher's knife strapped to his hip, he's clearly fucking batshit, dude! "</p><p>Hunk shrugs. "Well...yeah, his knife thing is definitely weird, but I think he's honestly just...lonely, dude." He pauses, pensive for a moment. "I mean... okay, so, you remember when I brought chocolate peanut butter cookies to homeroom for Pidge's birthday last year, and you brought the birthday hats for everyone and it was super fun and awesome? Well, I don't think you noticed but... Keith was just...kinda sitting there by the window staring at everyone like a kicked puppy or like, one of those sexy depressed girl stock photos, and I went over and gave him a cookie and I shit you not, the guy almost started crying. He like, started shaking, and was all like," Hunk lowers his voice to a budget Darth Vader impresson, comically raspy and deep, "'Thank you...Hank", and I was like 'Yeah no problem, dude, there's more over there if you want them!', and then he crushed the cookie in his fist and ran to the bathroom. Not gonna lie, I was lowkey mad that he didn't even eat it but like.. I think the dude is so affection-starved that he was straight up crying because I gave him a freaking cookie."</p><p>Lance falters in his anger, and feels his face burn in shame, because that's actually... really pathetic to think about, and not even in a way that Lance can feel cool making fun of, but more in the Sarah McLachlan Animal Cruelty PSA type of way. He feels guilty, because he knows his mother would slap him six ways to Sunday for the way he's been talking about Kogane ("That poor, poor boy!" she'd say, shaking her head furiously and taking out a wooden spoon), and then force him to apologize and invite Kogane over for a warm, home-cooked meal, and honestly, Lance wishes she was here right now to make him do exactly that.</p><p>"I mean...that's sad, but still really fucking weird. And also, he didn't even know your name? The Hunk fucking Garrett? Like, c'mon, clearly disrespectful." he jibes weakly. Hunk looks at Lance contemplatively with those big brown eyes, and Lance feels suddenly exposed. "I mean...okay, I can try being a little nicer to him, because that's super fucking pathetic, but he has one strike. One, you hear me?" he snaps, crossing his arms. Hunk's face melts into a beam, and he pulls Lance into a chokehold embrace. "You're the best, dude! I bet Keith's gonna be so happy to be friends with you!". Lance can't help but grin back at Hunk, and squeezes his best friend back.</p><p>Later that day, at lunch, Lance spots Kogane sitting in his usual spot in the dankest corner of the cafeteria, the table that's under a flickering light and a consistently dripping pipe leakage, dirty droplets landing on the sharp jut of Kogane's left elbow. Somehow, Kogane doesn't seem to notice the dirty water leaking on him. Kogane's orange uniform jacket is strewn across the table, and his bag is next to his tray - probably why nobody ever comes to sit with him, because he takes up the entirety of the table with his things. Hunk nods towards Kogane, and he and Lance both wander over to the table. Kogane looks up from his mush, cheeks full of food but mouth somehow still pulled into a tight scowl. He swallows (without chewing, Lance notes with disgust) and his prominent Adam's apple bobs sharply, scowl on his face flattening out into a blank, but curious expression. Kogane's elbows are up on the table (absolute barbarian, Lance thinks) and his shoulders are hunched over protectively, and now that his jacket is off, Lance can see a necklace with silver dog tags jingling against his sternum. </p><p>"Hey Keith! Mind if we sit here?" Hunk says, beaming broad and sunny at the boy. Keith stares at the two of them for a solid minute or two, clearly contemplating. He then slings his backpack over his shoulder, and gathers up his jacket and tray. "Sure, go ahead." he says, and he walks out of the cafeteria with his food. Hunk and Lance are left staring at the spot he vacated, and Lance whirls around to Hunk and grabs his shoulders. "See, look! I told you! He's just an asshole! What the fuck is his problem, oh my god?!" he screeches. Hunk frowns in confusion, "Yeah, that was...pretty weird? I don't know what that was, actually?“ he says, scratching his head in worry. Lance, feeling vindicated in his hatred of Kogane, stomps his foot, and some vegetable mush flings itself onto the floor from his tray. "You're a literal fucking angel dude, what the fuck! Nobody gets away with treating you like that! This is so fuckin’ wack, I'm gonna punch his lights out!" Lance rages. Hunk shakes his head and rubs Lance's shoulder soothingly, "Hey, hey, don't worry, Lance, it's no biggie, just forget about Keith. Let's just go sit and eat, yeah?” he says, guiding Lance back to their usual spot. Lance never spots Kogane in the cafeteria again after that.</p><p>The last time he sees Kogane in the Garrison, they're showing a breaking news reel about the Kerberos mission. The classroom is dead silent, clenched with anxiety, while the news reel plays. The words "PILOT ERROR" flash over the screen, with head shots of Dr. Sam Holt, his son Matt Holt, and Captain Takashi Shirogane, each one smiling brightly, sparkling eyes lively and confident, filling the screen. Kogane is shaking quietly in his seat, hands fisted so tight he's drawing blood. "The Garrison has officially declared all members of the crew to be dead." the newscaster says, her coiffed curls bobbing as she shakes her head sympathetically, and Kogane flings up from his seat like a coiled spring, knocking over his chair and water bottle, and bolts out of the room, and the tension in the classroom bursts, alighting into gossip and fearful speculation.</p><p>The next day, Kogane doesn't come to homeroom, nor does he the day after that, and the day after that. At first, everyone whispers about him, how sad he must be, probably too sad to even leave his room, and then Commander Iverson walks into flight simulation training one day, a brilliant purple bruise over one eye and particularly snappish, and then people are saying that Kogane's been expelled because he punched Iverson.</p><p>But after a couple of days, people seem to forget about him, which is weird because everyone was obsessed with Kogane when he was actually in school, but pilot class assignments for the next year are coming in, and prom is soon, and so are finals. Lance asks out the cute girl who sits next to him in Physics to prom, (she's on the track team, has two dogs and a little brother, a cute gap in the middle of her teeth, and she laughs at all of Lance's whispered wisecracks in class), and she says yes, and he's bumped up to the fighter pilot class, but he feels a strange hollowness through all of these occurrences. Of course, nobody's glad about the Kerberos disaster, but Lance is still hung up on it, suspicious of the coverage of the disaster - Shirogane was the best pilot the Garrison had seen in years, he explains to his prom date, there's no way it was just pilot error. She shrugs and says "Maybe." and then quickly switches the topic to Physics, about how nervous they are for the final, and he says "I heard Kogane got a hundred on the final when he took Physics last year" and she squints at him. "Kogane, huh? Were you guys friends? " she asks, with an unreadable look on her face. "What?" Lance says, grinning charmingly, ears burning, "No, no, I hate the guy! Total, raging asshole! We were like rivals, you know - Lance and Keith, neck and neck?". She furrows her brows. "You just...talk about him a lot for someone who claims to hate the guy, you know." she says, voice sharp. Lance's face grows hotter. "Huh, do I?" he says, chuckling nervously, and makes a mental note to never be caught dead talking about Kogane again.</p><p>Prom goes well - or so Lance thinks- but secretly, he couldn’t stop thinking about the flashing words, “PILOT ERROR”, the whole time, and afterwards, his date seems kind of standoffish in class. She ditches Lance entirely and starts going out with some guy a year older who's already in the fighter class, some jackass named George or Geoff or something painfully white like that. Lance mopes about getting rejected - he really did like her, and he could've sworn she felt the same - and he lays in bed for a full two days straight, refusing to get up and go to class. Hunk makes him garlic knots to try to cheer him up. "Come on dude, you're a fighter pilot now! And even beyond that, you're so much hotter than Jeremy- he smells like dog shit and Axe, and you're a tall glass of water, bro. A total fuckin’ dreamboat. ” Hunk encourages kindly, squeezing Lance so forcefully that he can't breathe, and Lance wheezes in his friend’s loving grasp.</p><p>But maybe it's the knowledge that it was supposed to be Kogane in his place that's suffocating him, because he knows he only made it into the fighter class because Kogane was expelled,and now, Kogane is wandering the universe so angry and so alone, just him, his motorcycle and his stardust eyes glowing with cold rage. Lance can't imagine existing without any earthly tethers - he would die without his family, because sure, even though he sometimes feels a little forgotten as the middle kid in a big, noisy house, he's been cushioned by love and warmth since the moment he was born - but Kogane has always drifted on his own, battered about every which way by the flood of life. Lance thinks that Shirogane's gentle, stalwart love was probably all that Kogane ever had, and now that he's gone, he feels sorry for Kogane's unwilting spirit, because Lance knows that if he was in Kogane's position, he would just lay down his sword and let himself melt into the earth, wait to meet Shirogane on the other side, but he knows that Kogane would chase Shirogane relentlessly through any realm, earthly or not, the laws of life and death, heaven and hell be damned, and he'll be bucking and frothing like a rabid horse for the rest of his life, ravenous and feral and inexhaustible, and Lance feels horribly choked up with a mix of guilt and resentment. Why can't he just enjoy his promotion to the fighter class without the shadow of Kogane's tragic orphan life looming over him, and oh great, now he's crying and Hunk is panicking and rubbing his back and trying to feed a garlic knot into his sobbing mouth, ('Bro, what's wrong, I just called you hot!?")</p><p>Stupid, brave, headstrong, lonely, starry-eyed, Kogane. Lance hates him so fucking much.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. sunny side up</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>OK 2nd chapter here we GO...ive had to reupload this a zillion times (@me being unable 2 use technology) but i think it should be uploaded properly now???? ANYWAYS THANKU SO MUCH FOR READING THIS comments/kudos are always appreciated YwY!!!!! &lt;33</p><p>  <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1EpckbLc5sGKPTUkcbIvL3?si=cLnesfAHT6WPBL_cNY789w">spotify playlist for this fic!</a></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">The next time Lance sees Kogane is a year later, over an unconscious Takashi Shirogane. Apparently, aliens are real, some of them are evil, and the only way to stop the evil ones from taking over the entire universe is by piloting massive, sentient, lion-shaped super robots, and by the way, according to very hot and very competent alien princess, Allura and her not-as-hot and not-as-competent but nonetheless wonderful advisor, Coran, Lance, Kogane, Shiro, Hunk, and Pidge are, for some magical reason, the only ones who can do this?</p><p class="p1">So, that's how Lance McClain and his star-crossed rival, Keith Kogane, end up living and working in very close quarters together on an alien spaceship. Keith, predictably, is good at <em>literally fucking everything</em>: he has a natural intuition for piloting his sentient lion super robot, and life as a street urchin in the Wild West has made him very, very skilled in all forms of combat, as well as giving him a sexy dose of unhealthy paranoia, sinewy, glistening abs and if you listen very closely, a slight Southern twang, (Lance swears the whole package is nowhere near as attractive as it sounds) and Lance is...the comic relief of the group. He voices this concern to his best friend, the light of Lance's life and gasser-upper of the century, Hunk Garrett, hoping for some validation that he too, is just as unbearably chiseled and badass as Keith, if not more, and Hunk says "Well, sure you are! I wouldn't put it like that, exactly, but, you keep us all sane, you know? Like, you're so funny and lighthearted, and we're all so stressed out by everything, and you always know just what to say to bring us all back down when things are too serious.". He knows Hunk means very well by this, and he's sure he sincerely means it when he says it's helpful, but... yeah, he totally is the comic relief.</p><p class="p1">So, he takes it out on Keith, who thankfully rises without fail to Lance's taunts. They bicker constantly - on a few occasions, it comes to blows, and Shiro and Allura have to pull them apart and put them in space time-out until they cool down and are forced at Shiro's-galra-hand-point to grudgingly apologize to one another (by apologize, Lance means that he always pulls some 'I'm SORRY that you FELT that way" type shit and Shiro will smack him upside the head and Keith will furrow his thick brows and grunt in shame and contrition and Shiro will smack him upside the head as well, and Lance will feel vindicated until Shiro makes them both grit out real apologies).</p><p class="p1">Lance is fine with this routine - he has a lot of pent up anger about being thrust into space to fight a war against an intergalactic dictator against his will, and Keith just has a lot of pent up anger in general, so naturally, he assumes it's a mutually beneficial situation.</p><p class="p1">Keith, as it turns out, does not feel the same way.</p><p class="p1">When Keith was a little boy, his dad, all steely gaze, musclebound arms and downy buzzcut that Keith liked to nuzzle his face into, would take him fishing on weekends. They would drive a couple of hours to a creek and set up the fishing lines, and sit for hours together. He’d nestle up in his dad’s lap, shielded from the humid, sticky wetlands by his broad back, and they’d hold the line together silently for hours, until the red sun would start to set and Keith would fall asleep to the lullaby of cicadas. His little hands would slip off the rod, and then he’d wake up back in the carseat, his father driving them back home to their little desert shack, their own silent heaven they’d shared together, and for the first few years of his life, the silence sheltered Keith and his father from the rest of the world, a world prone to chewing up everything he loved and spitting it back out with a resounding <em>fuck you</em>! For Keith, silence is comforting, like being swaddled in a blanket fresh out of the dryer. Lance is … anything but silent.</p><p class="p1">But it's not as though Keith isn't used to being out of his comfort zone; he's pretty sure his entire life has been a sick experiment by the universe in seeing just exactly how far they can throw a guy off his groove until he gives up, so Keith just... doesn't give up. That's how he get's through everything in his life - his dad dies, and he cries a little and trucks on, foster families don't want him, he cries a little and trucks on, the news claims his brother dies in a space disaster, and he cries a little and (you guessed it) trucks on. He doesn't think about what comes next, he just jumps from fight to fight, eyes blazing, fists bloody, and sword at the ready.</p><p class="p1">So he doesn't really think when Lance comes at him swinging. It's weird, because he doesn't even dislike the guy - in all honesty, he actually thinks Lance is pretty cool, but Lance seems to hate him with burning vitriol, which Keith knows is really weird because Lance is warm and open to even absolute strangers. They land on alien planets, and Lance will immediately receive every species with non-toxic skin with a big smile and spread arms, and they're leaving the planet and before Keith can even blink, Lance has fifteen new friends who are waving handkerchiefs at him and weeping when he gets back into the castleship. Or how Lance crawls all over everyone - he's always slinging an arm around Hunk,picking up Pidge by the armpits, elbowing Shiro with a wink-wink-nudge-nudge, braiding the Princess' hair and Coran's mustache(odd, but somehow possible), but he recoils when he makes contact with Keith. Their knees will touch underneath the dinner table, and Lance will snap his leg back as though burnt.</p><p class="p1">On a good day, it annoys him that he's on the outside of Lance's boundless affection and charm, and on a bad day, it depresses him. He genuinely doesn't know what he did to deserve Lance's wrath - sure, he didn't immediately remember Lance's name when they found Shiro, but he... sort of figured that a couple of months into fighting a space war together would make Lance get over it. The worst part is too, Keith has never cared about what people think before. Keith is the sort of person who doesn't leave a space between himself and the next guy at the urinals - if the other guy feels weird about their elbows touching while their dicks are out, that's <em>his</em> problem - and he has no problem making it known to people that he is That Guy, because Keith thought he left his feelings of shame and embarrassment to die on the side of the road a long, long time ago.</p><p class="p1">But Lance somehow <em>does</em> makes him feel embarrassed, and it sucks. He somehow picks up on every single, weird, sordid detail about Keith with devastating accuracy and weaponizes them, saying things like "Keith is emotionally constipated because he's never had a single friend in his life, so he grunts like a caveman in place of verbally expressing the full array of human emotion like the rest of us.", or "I bet Keith has that greasy mullet only because he thinks it's cool since Billy Ray Cyrus has a mullet too. But also, I bet he only knows Billy Ray Cyrus as Hannah Montana's dad, and not as a prolific singer-songwriter and actor in his own right", and somehow it's entirely spot on; he saw one episode of Hannah Montana once when he was a child and the cable in their shack actually worked, and he had no clue who her dad was but he looked cool, and Keith's had a mullet ever since, and he's never been ashamed of that before, but the way Lance says it makes him want to simultaneously beat Lance to a pulp and be consumed by the castle ship floor.</p><p class="p1">And so one day, Keith walks into the kitchen, sweaty after training, and Lance is sitting there, strangely dainty posture belying the simmer of petty bloodlust beneath, slathered in some citrus-y Bath and Body Works spray (where did he find that in <em>space</em>?) , and in a careful sequence, flips his chocolate curls, crosses his long, lean, spidery legs, turns up the sharp point of his nose, takes a deep breath, crinkles his nose in disgust, and screeches, "<em>EW</em>, what is that <em>SMELL</em>?". Keith can't help but feel his face grow hot and his collar constrict, and he snaps back "I don't know, maybe it's the big, smelly shit my hard work took on your lazy ass." and Lance springs up and snarls "I'm gonna wring your skinny fuckin' neck Kogane.", and Keith is about to pounce on Lance and scratch his eyes out, but then he makes real, solid eye contact with Lance for once, and he sees that Lance looks terrified, blue eyes shining with an emotion that's hollow and glassy and easily breakable, and he's suddenly compelled to crush the sadness out of Lance, squeeze him so tight that he cries all of his bad feelings out, and because Keith <em>doesn't think before he acts</em>, he does exactly that.</p><p class="p1">Lance goes still like a doll, frozen stiff in his arms - his knobby elbows are stabbing Keith in the ribs, and he's looking at Keith with wide, frightened eyes. And then Keith puts his foot in his mouth and just straight up asks "Why do you hate me?", and it comes out far too quiet and far too vulnerable for Keith's liking, and Lance is gaping at him, mouth opening and closing with no sound coming out.</p><p class="p1">After a few seconds of floundering, Lance re-orients himself, bony fingers grasping Keith's shoulders, and suddenly he's looking at Keith with the same clear, soft, gentle eyes he gives everyone else, and Keith feels a swoop in his chest, like his lungs are giving out, and Lance says, "I...don't hate you, why would you think that?" and, <em>oh</em>, now, Keith wants to punch him.</p><p class="p1">"What do you MEAN, why would I think that? You've been picking fights with me since day one, and I don't even know what the problem is! You’re always talking about my fucking hair or my clothes or whatever bullshit thing you come up with! I don’t understand why you’re so nice to everybody except for me?!" he yells, squeezing Lance's torso in a vice grip. "What's wrong with me? Why do you hate me?" Keith asks again, voice lowering, soft and shaky as he blinks rapidly, still squeezing Lance tight, like his bony ass is a soggy, chewed up blanket, and Keith's the little kid who's cried and teethed and snotted all over him since birth.</p><p class="p1">Lance is...shocked, to say the least. He feels so stupid and ashamed of himself for being such a goddamn asshole, and he's also really fucking confused, because he's locked suffocatingly into Keith's warm, solid arms with no route of escape, and he's looking at Lance with dark, wet lashes, violet eyes sparkling like galaxies, his mouth screwed into a grimace like he's trying not to puke, breathing heavily out of his nose like a dog, warm and a little damp on Lance's mouth (weirdly, Lance is actually a little endeared by Keith's dog-breath).</p><p class="p1">Lance takes a deep, shaky breath, and he realizes he's also been on the verge of tears."Man, there's...nothing wrong with you at all. I'm just... an insecure asshole, I guess." he says, laughing drily.</p><p class="p1">"I mean you're just, really, really, really good at everything you do, and I miss home so fucking bad, and this space soldier stuff is honestly a lot of pressure, and ... well, honestly, I kinda thought you hated me too? And I guess I just...took everything out on you. I mean, it's even more asshole-y of me too because you're like, so depressed all the time, but, I don't know, I just seriously thought you didn't care whether I liked you or not? I guess everyone cares a little though about what people think, even you. I mean, I care a lot about what people think, so...uh, I'm really sorry, dude."Lance blabbers, feeling embarrassed, over-exposed, and a little relieved that he didn't burst into tears like a baby while telling Keith that.</p><p class="p1">Keith looks surprised at Lance's confession. "I don't care what other people think." he says bluntly, and Lance is ready to be irritated, when Keith continues, "I care what you think.", and is it just Lance or is there literally no air in this room?</p><p class="p1">"Because I think you're a good person, Lance. I don't want to fight with you. I want to be friends. Do you?" Keith asks firmly, looking Lance straight in the eyes, grip on his ribs tightening further, eliciting a pained wheeze out of Lance. He begins to claw at Keith's shoulders to get him to loosen his grip, but Keith doesn't seem to notice, still staring at Lance with those strong, earnest eyes. God, why is this guy is so fucking <em>intense</em> for no reason?</p><p class="p1">"Yes, yes, let's be friends and stuff, but have you ever given a fucking hug in your life, dude?" Lance hisses. Keith falters, dropping his arms and stepping back, his fiery expression dampening slightly. Lance feels a bit like he's kicked a puppy. "No, no, no, come here, dumbass, I didn't mean it like that. " Lance groans, " Here, I'll show you how to give a proper hug.", and that charmingly determined expression pops back up on Keith's face, and Lance pulls him into his arms, their chests pressing together hotly, and Keith squeezes with <em>those goddamn arms</em>, like he'll never let go of Lance, and then he pulls back a little, sweeping some hair off of his broad forehead with a gloved hand, looks at Lance with this sort of tentative, innocent fondness in his eyes, and as if Lance's heart wasn't already about to collapse in on itself, Keith fucking <em>grins</em>, big and crinkle-eyed and happy, all gooey and soft and sunshine-y, just like how Lance thought it would be, a face Lance honestly thought he'd go his entire lifetime without ever seeing.</p><p class="p1">Keith says "How's that for a proper hug?" and Lance, concerned by the feeling of blood throbbing in his ears, and how he, for some reason, wants to curl his entire body up on Keith's sturdy chest and stay there forever, pulls away, gives Keith the patented Heterosexual Man Back Slap and says "Not bad, man.", grinning at Keith easily. "But we'll keep practicing, yeah?". Keith slaps his back in return, slightly too forceful, and it sends Lance stumbling a couple of steps forward, but Keith's still got that big, goofy smile plastered on his face, so Lance isn't complaining.</p><p class="p1">Lance starts to head out of the kitchen, and has more than half his body out of the door, when he hears a quiet, almost imperceptible "Thanks, Lance" from behind him. He throws up a sloppy thumbs-up behind him, feigning casualness, but he smiles, feeling big and light and floaty like he's a cloud in the sunshine, all the way back to his bedroom.</p>
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. flowers for john wayne</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>NEW CHAPTER!!!! sorry for the loooooong wait it was the holidays!! hope yall had a good christmas &amp; new years!!!! &lt;33333 </p><p>i now have an amazing beta who taught me proper punctuation so we're BACK &amp; BETTER THAN EVER! </p><p>  <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1EpckbLc5sGKPTUkcbIvL3?si=cLnesfAHT6WPBL_cNY789w">spotify playlist for this fic!</a></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Keith Kogane's favorite movie is the 1959 Sleeping Beauty movie.</p><p>Mostly because that was the only film he had in the shack growing up, but also because it made Keith believe in happy endings. Keith's certainly not a romantic by any means - it's never even really occurred to him that he himself could one day fall in love - but the idea of a "happily ever after", the neat, storybook, tied-with-a-bow finish is honestly kind of what's kept him fighting all these years, among other things.</p><p>And yeah, it makes him a little nervous sometimes, about whether he'll get that or not, because Keith's never been able to sit still. After his dad died, it was like his nervous system kicked into overdrive - Keith needs to feel things, the air whipping so fiercely around him he gets paper cuts, knees pounding on ground, cracking under the pressure, heat collapsing him into something razor sharp and diamond hard and totally <em>unbreakable</em>.</p><p>Keith has a permanent scar on his ribcage from when he stole some man's backpack - he was 12, and it was his favorite shade of chrome red - and he hopped over a fence and halfway impaled himself on it, and another one on the back of his neck, from when he was 13, from when he got on his dad's old motorbike and went to an empty parking lot at night, speed pumped up to the devil, and tried to teach himself how to do a backflip.</p><p>First try, and Keith went down like a ragdoll. He's the luckiest guy in the world, because somehow his spine didn't snap in half like a glow stick, and there was some guy there coming out of the convenience store with a pack of condoms who oh-so kindly took a detour on his trip to pound town to call an ambulance for the preteen bleeding to death on the pavement.</p><p>And the worst part? Keith doesn't even really regret these times - it almost feels like he did what he had to do, because if he didn't, he'd be gone, a wisp of air, swallowed into nothingness by a throat-cold loneliness. When he was eight, Keith was such a nice boy, quiet and polite, opening doors for everyone and saying thank you, just like his dad taught him to, and so <em>alone</em>. He got put in the group home, and he just got... lost. He'd kick his feet in the corner, and at 6pm, the woman would come and clear all the kids out and into the mess hall and then to the showers, then bed, and Keith could stay in the corner like a ghost - if he never said a word, nobody would come to get him for the night, he'd stay there forever, forgotten like a little piece of furniture.</p><p>Keith's blood's been out of his body more often than it's been in, because he needs to see it, hear it throbbing in his ears, feel it run down his hands, needs to make sure it hasn't frozen over, stopped flowing inside of him, stopped pumping, stopped keeping him alive.</p><p>So yeah, if Keith thinks about it too hard, he'll get just a <em>little</em> bit sad, because he's definitely no Prince Philip. Honestly, he's not really any of the characters in that story - not even the stupid, squawky, evil raven, Diablo. Thankfully, Keith doesn't have too much time to think - a little too busy trying to survive, thank you very much.</p><p>But Keith really does love that movie. It was his dad's favorite too - his dad would come home after a long day at work, sooty and grizzled, and he'd put on some clean clothes and make them some TV dinners, mushy corn and turkey and peas (on holidays, his dad would fry up an egg and put strips of bacon in a smiley face on top for them), and they'd sit on the edge of the bed, Keith's feet a long way from the floor, wondering when he'd get the strong, unmoving tree trunks of his dad's legs, and his dad would put on Sleeping Beauty for the both of them.</p><p>And once upon a time, Keith was curious about love - what is it, why did Prince Philip love Princess Aurora and why did Princess Aurora love Prince Philip? - and his dad would put down his plastic dinner tray, pause the movie, and pull Keith onto his lap and say "Love, huh?" and his eyes would grow a little misty and wistful, and that'd make Keith tear up too, and he'd guide Keith by his little hand over to the window and lift him up by the armpits so he could see outside from his dad's eye level. "See those stars?", and Keith would nod, obviously, Dad, they're right there!</p><p>"Your mom is up there, Keith," he'd say, something hopeful yet downcast in his voice, "She's far, far away, but she's watching us, Keith. She's with us right here," and then he'd tickle Keith's chest, right over his heart, and Keith would collapse into giggles, and they'd sink to the floor and his dad would tickle him, laughing just as hard as Keith was, until he was kicking and screaming and out of breath, and then his dad would go a little quiet and pull Keith into his arms and say, "She loves you, Keith. She's out there, fighting for you," and Keith would ask "What's she fightin'?" and that, his dad would never answer. He'd lay down on the bed and sit Keith on his stomach and they'd keep watching the movie.</p><p>And then the music would crescendo, and the gold, bejeweled book would flip shut, and Keith would feel warm and satisfied, a fullness in the pit of his belly, asleep in his dad's arms. Keith thought he and his dad would stay together forever - Keith would grow bigger and stronger with every day, and his dad was already invincible anyways, the kind of man that not even death could unroot from the ground, and they'd stay in the shack. Maybe Keith would become a firefighter too, just like his dad, and they'd save the world together, one burning building at a time, and then come home and eat smiley-face eggs together, and the book would flip shut on a shot of them smiling, tall and strong, side by side with his dad, like twin oaks.</p><p>Things have changed since then for Keith - for a long time after that, his happy ending was just some ambiguous sentiment of peace. Like, maybe he'd get a job as a mechanic, or a bricklayer - he's good with his hands - and he'd live just outside town, in a little house on his own in the woods, maybe get a dog (a husky, or a mountain dog maybe), hell, maybe even learn how to cook a little. Get groceries, sit out on the porch, look at the stars, play fetch, chop firewood. He likes the silence of the great outdoors, the deep, open expanse of everything and nothing, the simultaneous loneliness and unity. In Keith's opinion, it's the closest thing to space that's on Earth.</p><p>And even more than the woods, space is Keith's favorite place to be. Keith always knew it would be, even as a little boy, so Shiro vouching for him to be in the Garrison was the best thing that ever happened in his life. He put his all into being a pilot, working in the simulator til his fingers bled from gripping the controls. Hell, he even tried to keep his grades up - turns out, with a great deal of effort and extra hours, Keith is a straight B+/A- student - but when Shiro goes missing, Keith's motivation does too, and he gets <em>pissed</em>, because more than anybody else, Shiro's the kind of guy that deserves a happy ending, and Keith will move heaven and earth to give him that.</p><p>And they reunite in space - it's not a <em>happy ending</em>, so much as it is a <em>terrifying beginning</em>. But Keith's definitely a little happy, because he has a family of sorts, here. In the cold, dark reaches of space, Keith is less lonely than he's ever been in his whole life.</p><p>But everybody else is a little sad to be here - they have things waiting for them on Earth. Pidge is the only one who's really glad to be here, but it's because she's looking for what she lost on Earth. Keith has more in space than he's ever had anywhere else.</p><p>Lance, in particular, looks so goddamn heartbroken sometimes. He'll be laughing, smiling, laughing, smiling, larger and brighter than a sun, and then suddenly, he'll curl up like a little paper in flames, shrinking and ashen, looking every bit the 18 year old boy he is.</p><p>Keith knows Lance is a romantic - he's got a big family, big dreams, and an even bigger heart. Lance could be a prince, Keith thinks, with his curls and sun kissed skin, the way his eyes glitter like wet diamonds, how he swans into a room, neck tall and lean, walking like he's dancing.</p><p>Lance, at his best, when he's knowing and being himself, reminds Keith of the peonies he used to take to his father's grave - great, big, pillowy, blossoms, warm and bright and so soft they'd start to fall apart, practically melt, in Keith's blistered fingers. His hands, only used to white-knuckling the handles of a bike and creating a steel hard, heart-sized, fist, were too rough, too heavy, so he'd conditioned himself to use that hard grip on the stems, hold them up and make sure the flowers don't collapse under their own weight, make sure they stand tall, blooming out towards the sun.</p><p>And Keith sees that same gentleness in Lance - he'd mistook it for weakness at first, with the way Lance would lash out at him and then recoil in on himself, but it's not that. It's that Lance is made of love, through and through and through.</p><p>Not "love" like, how he'll go up to the Princess and take his shirt and say "Guess what this is made out of, Princess?" and she'll say, "It's that Earthen material, yes? Cotton?" and he'll say, "No, it's boyfriend material!" and she'll go "How interesting! Earthlings have so many different materials for their clothes, don't they? We really only use <em>xreyfüs</em> and <em>ligma</em> for our garments," and then Pidge will start to open her mouth to make a "ligma nuts" joke (Keith didn't understand what the joke was for an <em>embarrassingly</em> long time) and Hunk will smack his hand over her mouth because "wait until we're not around the Princess, Pidge!". It's vaguely funny when Lance does that, but nobody's really laughing <em>with</em> him, you know? And it mostly irritates Keith, because Lance can be so kind and courageous, and he instead chooses to show...<em> this</em> to people?</p><p>It's a dearth in confidence, Keith realizes one day, when he sees Lance make a crappy joke like that, and the Princess will glare at him, and he'll slink off and be just a little bit too quiet. It's how Lance desperately wants to connect with people, to put all of his love out in the open, the love he's stuffed with like the cotton in a teddy bear, all that he wants to give, but he's scared of people seeing him, unfurled and opened up, and all the stuffing getting stolen out. How Lance looks out for everyone in little ways, sees the places everyone hides and coaxes them up and out like a hot steam bath, smoky soft cradle of warmth, but he's so damn<em> awkward</em> about someone doing the same for him.</p><p>How Lance will sometimes look totally limp, defeated by something vast and all-consuming, about to collapse in on himself like a dying star, and Keith will feel the urge to hold him up like the peonies, push his back tall and high, bring him up to the sun, push his love out through his chest like an unwritten song, see him all golden and slender and princely like he is.</p><p>But that's just Keith's thoughts on it. He's not a perceptive guy, really.</p><p>Keith's never been in the control room of the castle during the dark cycle, but there's a first for everything, right? He's not even really sure why he hasn't - it's silent and alone and big, and Keith likes the feeling of being swaddled in the dark. He could be anything there, do anything, and nobody but the stars and himself would know.</p><p>So one afternoon, he takes a weirdly long nap - it's honestly long enough that it could be qualified as a short coma - and when he finally wakes up it's the dark cycle, but he figures there's no way everyone's asleep for the night yet, he couldn't have slept for that long...right?</p><p>Dead wrong, he finds out, walking into the empty control room. He's surprised though, to see Lance splayed out on the floor a a map of the galaxy twinkling above his head.</p><p>And Keith's been told he has an unfortunate ability to "manifest" before (Pidge's words - Lance tried to get the same message across, but he kept telling Keith that he's "like a crazy samurai ninja!" and Keith thought that maybe he was just being mildly racist or something?), so when he walks over to Lance, crouches down over his head, and says "Hey, Lance." Lance's head crashes up into his chin. Keith falls over onto the ground, and immediately Lance is crawling up over him, pawing at his face to check for damage. "Dude, don't do that!" he complains. "You okay?" Lance asks, leaning back on his haunches.</p><p>Keith grunts eloquently in response, and sits up. "What are you doing here?" he asks, gesturing up at the star map projected up on the ceiling. Lance's face flushes and he brings his knees up to his chest protectively. "Just, uh.. vibing, you know? Just straight chillin', you feel?" he says.</p><p>"I don't know or feel," Keith replies, confused.</p><p>Lance seems to take this as Keith pushing him for emotional vulnerability - which sure, Keith doesn't mind that, but he honestly just didn't understand what Lance was trying to tell him.</p><p>"I just... it's so big out here, you know?" Lance says, slumping down and looking at him with big, expectant, blue eyes.</p><p>I mean, yeah, Keith thinks, it's literally space. He doesn't want to scare Lance off from sharing though - he's trying to be a better friend, these days - so he says "Yeah, I know."</p><p>"I miss Earth so bad," he says, and Keith can hear a slight choking up in his voice. Oh <em>no</em>, Keith thinks. He's horrible at dealing with crying people. One time, one of the little kids at the group home scraped his knee outside and Keith was the only one there, and he started sobbing bloody murder, and Keith just said "Stop that," and the child was so startled by it that he stopped crying and just sat there, tear-stained and confused.</p><p>Keith wants to help though, even if he's shitty at it. He scoots a little closer to Lance. "You have a really big family, right?" he asks gruffly.</p><p>Lance looks surprised that he knew that. "Yeah, I-I do. Me, my mom, my dad, Rachel, Veronica, Marco, and Luis. And then there's Luis' wife, Lisa, and their kids, Nadia and Silvio. And obviously, there's Gran-gran and Pop-pop," he says, smiling a little bit, eyes shining.</p><p>Keith nods, hoping Lance will continue.</p><p>"And Nadia and Silvio were toddlers last time I saw them - they were like, this big," he says, grinning, showing Keith an inch between his thumb and forefinger.</p><p>"Small," Keith says, nodding in understanding.</p><p>"But kids grow so big so fast, is the thing. And they were so little, I don't even know if they'll still remember Uncle Lance," Lance says, and yep, he's definitely crying now. He's turning his head away from Keith, as though that might be able to hide the fact that he's crying, and he's gripping his skinny knees so tightly Keith think they might break.</p><p>Keith removes a cold, bony hand off Lance's knees, and squeezes it tightly in his own warm one. Uncle Lance, huh? That makes something warm and heavy squeeze in Keith's chest.</p><p>"I miss them so much, Keith," Lance says softly, voice breaking.</p><p>"They miss you too. All of them. They're waiting for their Uncle Lance to come back home," Keith says firmly, rubbing his thumb on Lance's knobby wrist bone.</p><p>Lance finally makes eye contact with Keith, and chuckles wetly. "I wish I never left them in the first place, though, you know? We're all just kids, Keith. I mean... it's kind of insane that we're even here."</p><p>And Keith doesn't really know what to say that. Lance and Hunk and Pidge are all kids to him, of course, but he's never really lumped himself in with them in that way - Keith's thought of himself as a man for as long as he can remember. He remembers being 14 and about to leave the group home for the Garrison, and one of the older boys clapped him on the shoulder and said, "You're a man now, Kogane," and laughed, ugly and loud, and Keith thought, I've been a man already.</p><p>But Lance? Wide-eyed, big-hearted, warm Lance? Prince Lance, who should be picking flowers and singing to songbirds and dancing in fields or some shit? It pisses Keith off that he has to be here - Keith kind of asked for this, frankly, and he'd lost everything long ago, but Lance? He didn't deserve any of this.</p><p>He doesn't realize how tightly he's squeezing Lance's hand until Lance starts squirming it out. "Dude, <em>fuck</em>! Do you jack off with this kinda grip?" he howls, pressing at the indents Keith's nails left in his palm.</p><p>Keith winces. "Sorry, sorry," he says, taking Lance's hand and rubbing his thumbs gently into the crescents. They're quiet for a minute, Keith massaging Lance's palm absentmindedly, until Keith speaks up again, clearing his throat awkwardly.</p><p>"There'll be tons of parades for you when you're back home. And girls'll be all over you - Defender of the Universe, and all that."</p><p>Keith's not used to saying this kind of stuff - it's all things that Lance cares about, not him, you know? He hopes the thought of it at least cheers Lance up a little though.</p><p>But Lance starts to laugh, grabbing onto Keith's shoulder for support, and Keith can't help but grin when he hears the sound.</p><p>"Oh my god, dude, you know what? I don't even really care about any of that stuff anymore, honestly. I just want to eat my mom's cooking again, you know?" Lance says, wheezing.</p><p>Keith feels a little embarrassed that he thought Lance would care about that stuff - who could blame him though? Lance has made it pretty clear that tits and glory are his main priorities in life - but Lance flops a thin arm around Keith's shoulders, and grins up at him. There's tear-tracks still staining his face, and the star map is projected on his face like silver freckles. Keith feels his ears burn.</p><p>"Thank you though, Keith," he says, grinning impishly. Keith likes the way his name rolls off of Lance's tongue. He wants Lance to say it again, but even he knows that'd be a little weird, so he's stuck in limbo, staring at Lance, taking in the regal lines of his cheekbones, the red rims of his eyes standing out starkly against blue irises. A flame sparks against Keith's ribs.</p><p>"You don't comfort people much, huh, lone ranger?" Lance asks, smile shifting to something a little catlike.</p><p>Keith frowns - he thought he did at least an okay job, Lance seems happier now. "Sorry," he says, "I'm not very good at this stuff."</p><p>Lance shakes his head, laughing again. "No, no. You're actually good. I really do feel better now," he says, patting Keith's shoulder and grinning like there's a joke only he alone understands.</p><p>Keith is quiet for a second, before his big, dumb mouth decides to run itself again.</p><p>“My uh… you know, my dad, he used to tell me something when I was a kid,” Keith says, forcing himself to look Lance in the eyes, despite his embarrassment. He’s never talked about his dad to anyone really - vaguely mentioned him to Shiro, but not in as much detail as he’s going to.</p><p>“Yeah?” Lance says, leaning forward eagerly like Keith’s the most fascinating person in the world. It's more than flattering to have Lance's attention so raptly on him.</p><p>“My dad used to tell me my mom was watching us through the stars. So… I know your family is too, you know? Loving you through the stars,” he mumbles, Lance’s soft eyes on his own.</p><p>Lance searches in Keith’s eyes for a minute. Keith's honestly not sure what he's looking for. The star map is rotating slowly above them, casting ethereal light on Lance’s face. He squeezes Keith’s hand gently and smiles. “I really like that. Thank you, Keith,” he says in that sweet, warm, honeyed tone, like he’s mentally caressing every word Keith just said to him.</p><p>It's that kind of tenderness that Keith wants to protect, wants to hold up to the sun and bathe in light. It kind of hits Keith like a damn hammer in that moment, with Lance's side warm and pressed into his own, that this is why he's fought all these years, hands bloody and eyes forward, into the light. Keith may be no gallant, romantic, gold-wrought prince himself, but Lance is, and Keith will be there, wants to be there, right behind him, holding his back straight and watching him bloom up, and up, and up, keeping those delicate petals from falling apart. If Lance is a prince, Keith thinks, perhaps then he is his knight, all sword and armor and holy fire.</p><p>Lance falls asleep on his arm. Happy endings, indeed, Keith thinks.</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. lone ranger</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>
  <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1EpckbLc5sGKPTUkcbIvL3?si=cLnesfAHT6WPBL_cNY789w">spotify playlist for this fic!</a>
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  <span>The day after Keith and Shiro return from the Blade, Coran quietly gives them all a day off.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"The princess is not feeling well, so we will give her some space, yes?" he tells them in a hushed voice - Lance understands this to mean that she's not taking the news of Keith being Galra well at </span>
  <em>
    <span>all</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lance gets it, at least to an extent. Honestly, if he were Allura, he would've had a </span>
  <em>
    <span>total</span>
  </em>
  <span> mental breakdown; her culture, her life, her family, everything she loved, completely </span>
  <em>
    <span>destroyed</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and she was made to sleep through all of it. She barely even had a chance to say goodbye to everything, you know? He doesn't know how Allura even manages most days - if Lance were her, he doesn't think he'd ever be able to shoulder the grief. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The worst part for Lance is that the Galra probably have families too - maybe creepy, evil Sendak had a creepy, evil, little newborn baby and a partner or something, a little Galra nuclear family situation, who he thought he was providing and building a better future for. Or even fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>Zarkon</span>
  </em>
  <span> - what if he had a kid, some little twerpy, bratty mini -Zarkon? Like, maybe between destroying planets, he takes his kid to play catch or eat space ice cream or something? It horrifies Lance, because they've blown up whole ships with just a flick of their lions' tails - there's no way they haven't broken at least one family in this manner. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Keith being part Galra kind of makes that all too real - that somewhere along the Kogane lineage, a Galra met a human and fell in love, and they had a family, with babies, and those babies had more babies, and eventually, Keith happened. And through thick and thin, Keith is </span>
  <em>
    <span>theirs</span>
  </em>
  <span> - Galra or not, Keith is an indisputable member of their little Voltron family. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Lance gets it. Altea was all of this, what they have now, times a million - it was Allura's </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything.</span>
  </em>
  <span> The planet was literally </span>
  <em>
    <span>hers</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Allura woke up on her planet every day and thanked the stars for it, and for all of its citizens, the blooming, radiating, flourishing, beating heart </span>
  <em>
    <span>liveness</span>
  </em>
  <span> of Altea. The way she talks about Altea sometimes, the crystal pools, the sweet juniberries, the eternal springtime, playfully jousting with her mother, and how her eyes look so full and far away, Lance knows she would've given her life for it in a heartbeat if she was allowed to do so. And </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Lance is sure as hell glad she didn't, but </span>
  <em>
    <span>yeah</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he can't even pretend to imagine the daily heartache she must go through, living and breathing and existing, when everything and everyone she once knew is long gone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lance knows she probably just needs time, though. Allura is smart, and brave, and ultimately, she is kind. She'll figure it out, eventually, that Voltron is her family now, even Keith. She could never harbor any</span>
  <em>
    <span> real</span>
  </em>
  <span> hate for any of them. Especially not Keith, who in Lance's opinion, is actually kind of similar to her. He'd never say it out loud, because it's kind of weird, comparing your crush and your former rival, now good friend, but they're both the same breed of headstrong, ethereally graceful, fiercely loving people, the kind who will walk straight through a fire just to get to the other side of it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But in the meantime, Keith is pacing around the halls continuously, like he's on autopilot. Lance is coming back to his room with a bowl of some sort of weird pink chocolate-type substance Hunk procured on one of their planetside missions, when he sees Keith, still in his armor from yesterday, practically digging holes into the floor in front of his room with how forcefully he's walking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lance has never really seen Keith anxious before - angry, sad, hopeless, maybe, but not really </span>
  <em>
    <span>anxious</span>
  </em>
  <span>. So he's a little surprised by this development, but he walks up to Keith anyways and taps him on the shoulder. Keith's head snaps up to Lance, and Lance can now see that Keith's practically chewed a hole through his bottom lip with that one rogue tooth of his. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Chocolate, samurai?" Lance offers, popping one in his own mouth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith stares at him like he's grown another head (and hey, Lance wouldn't be surprised if he had - they're in space, after all). </span>
</p><p>
  <span>To Lance's surprise, he actually takes one. He's scowling deeply, but his eyes are shiny and lost looking. Keith stares at him for a long, long, long time. It's exactly as awkward as it sounds, and Lance is about to make a joke about how awkward it is, when Keith speaks again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"The princess hates me, doesn't she?" he asks, and he sounds </span>
  <em>
    <span>resigned</span>
  </em>
  <span> to it, as though he's had this same conversation about a million different people a million different times before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"She doesn't hate you, </span>
  <em>
    <span>doofus</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she just needs space. Which we have plenty of, out here," Lance says, winking at Keith. He's so fucking proud of himself - he’s been waiting to make the pun for</span>
  <em>
    <span> weeks</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith looks absolutely miserable in response, like someone poured a bucket of cold water on his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lance sighs, sinking down against the wall, and motions for Keith to come down with him. Keith complies stiffly - it's much clunkier for him to get comfortable on the floor in his full armor than it is for Lance, in his light t-shirt and jeans. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Of course she doesn't hate you, man. She's scared and confused and maybe kind of angry, but she'll be okay. She just needs to realize that you're still the same dumb, hothead Keith as always, you know? " Lance says, placing a hand on Keith's shoulder</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith eases up a little, and grasps the tips of Lance's bare fingers in his gloved ones, the small surface area of their connection radiating a surprising amount of heat. It's awfully easy for Keith to make physical contact nowadays (almost a little too easy) but Lance still can't help but freeze up - it's not like he gets much action in freaking </span>
  <em>
    <span>space</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and Keith </span>
  <em>
    <span>is </span>
  </em>
  <span>pretty handsome, he'll cop to it now that they're friends! And Keith will just... hold Lance's hand sometimes, which is </span>
  <em>
    <span>great</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but also totally weird, because Keith is so quiet but has such a forceful presence, and he cuts such a clean, strong line in his armor, except for his dumb fluffy hair, and then he'll just kinda... take Lance's hand like it's </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing</span>
  </em>
  <span>. And Lance is so grateful he can be there for Keith and stand beside him, but, yeah, it makes it a little bit hard for Lance to think heterosexual thoughts sometimes, you know? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith lets out a warm sigh, and it ghosts over their joined fingers. Lance holds back an involuntary shiver. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I don't want to be Galra, Lance," he says, looking down at his knees, his hair casting a somber shadow over his face, "I don't want things to change," </span>
</p><p><span>Lance squeezes his fingers and bumps their knees together, causing Keith to look up and make eye contact with him. His eyes are shiny and moonlike, and a layer of dried blood covers his bottom lip, snaggletooth poking out. Lance fights the urge to wipe it off. It's </span><em><span>scary</span></em><span>,</span> <span>seeing him look so defeated, so frightened, especially by something so emotional, but it really </span><em><span>hits</span></em><span> Lance in that moment that Keith is far more than just a soldier, more than just the strong, silent body, slicing a hard, wiry figure in the darkness, that he makes himself out to be. Voltron is all Keith has now, and right now he's </span><em><span>terrified, </span></em><span>a scared, sallow child beneath the armor and sword. </span></p><p>
  <span>"Nothing's </span>
  <em>
    <span>changing</span>
  </em>
  <span>, mullet. It's not like you became a big purple bloodthirsty furry asshole the moment you found out were Galra. Plus, being Galra isn't inherently a bad thing - sure, we know a lot of shitty, stinky Galra, but I mean, look at those Blade of Whatever guys! They're pretty cool! And anyways, even if you did become all huge and freaky and purple, you'd still be </span>
  <em>
    <span>our </span>
  </em>
  <span>Keith, you feel? We've always got your back, man, no matter what," </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith frowns, but there's a smile hinting at the side of his lips. "Blade of Marmora, Lance," </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lance groans in mock irritation. "Blade of </span>
  <em>
    <span>TURBO-VIRGINS</span>
  </em>
  <span>, more like. What's the deal with them making you do that crazy death knife ritual? Just because they don't get laid doesn't mean they have to take it out on everyone else," </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith laughs, real and genuine, tilting his head back and shoving a hand through his hair. Lance grins back, and his eyes can't help but follow the bob of Keith's sharp Adam's apple in his throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Turbo-virgins, Lance, really? That's rich, coming from you," Keith says, smirking at Lance. Lance swears to heaven and back that it's a semi-flirtatious expression, but he also desperately doesn't want to be wrong, so he just says "Fuck off, mullet," shoves Keith's shoulder gently and gets up, picking up his space chocolate bowl. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith grins, and gets up along with him, placing his hand, broad and warm, on the strip of bare skin on Lance's lower back, right where his shirt has ridden up. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>, </span>
  <em>
    <span>that's new</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Lance thinks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Your shoelaces are untied," Keith says, voice rough and low, vibrating right into the spot where he's touching Lance. Lance dares a glance up through his lashes, genuinely nervous that what he's going to see will send him into cardiac arrest, and oh my </span>
  <em>
    <span>god</span>
  </em>
  <span>, it nearly fucking does, because Keith gets down on one knee, maintaining eye contact with Lance all the while, like he’s going to</span>
  <em>
    <span> tie Lance’s shoelaces his damn self</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>God</span>
  </em>
  <span>, it fucking looks like he’s going to </span>
  <em>
    <span>propose</span>
  </em>
  <span> to Lance or some shit. Without thinking, Lance grabs Keith’s hands and yanks him back up, but the thought of Keith slowly and tenderly loop-de-looping and pulling with those warm, calloused hands, just like the Spongebob song tells you to do, is seared into Lance’s brain now like a brand. Keith looks a tad surprised, but doesn’t really say anything, just looking at Lance with that same gentle, slightly amused gaze. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Y-you uh... you wanna come with me to my room, dude?" Lance bites out tensely, because he's kind of freaked out by the physical contact, because aren't</span>
  <em>
    <span> lower</span>
  </em>
  <span> back touches awfully </span>
  <em>
    <span>intimate</span>
  </em>
  <span>? And Keith is still grinning at him, and his hair is pushed off of his big fucking forehead for once, and his shoulders look awfully broad in his armor, and if Lance were a wealthy regency-era English maiden, he would </span>
  <em>
    <span>certainly</span>
  </em>
  <span> be swooning onto his fainting couch right now. Frankly, he's pretty sure Keith's hand on his lower back is the only thing keeping him from falling over right now, because his legs are fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>buckling</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And he doesn't even know why he chose to invite Keith to his fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>room </span>
  </em>
  <span>of all places. Lance's room is the dirtiest, rotten-est, most terrible-est, bad-humored room in the entire castle, save perhaps for Pidge's own Goblin Hole (a term lovingly coined by Lance and Hunk after she asked them to go into her room to find a screwdriver and Hunk slipped in a pile of moldy food goo that was just... sitting on the floor, and nearly crushed some living ball of fluff with eyes. They asked Pidge what the ball was, and she just said "</span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I didn't even know I had those little guys in my room!"). Sure, Lance considers his body a temple - he's ridiculous about personal hygiene in that way - but he </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely</span>
  </em>
  <span> doesn't treat his room the same way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sure," Keith says, surprisingly, without question, removing his hand from Lance's back. Lance feels cold and wobbly without it. It takes a moment for it to register that Keith has agreed to come with him, and he's about to overanalyze it, before the hand is back on him, pushing him forward gently. What the</span>
  <em>
    <span> cheese? </span>
  </em>
  <span>Lance wants to scream, because it's one thing to hold your bro's hand, but it's another thing to tenderly touch his lower back, but also maybe Keith just actually doesn't</span>
  <em>
    <span> know</span>
  </em>
  <span> that this is weird amongst men. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Actually</span>
  <em>
    <span> scratch that</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Keith is manly as all fucking hell - he eats his meat bloody, uses 4-in-1 body wash/shampoo, and has pushup competitions with Shiro (why, Lance doesn’t know - the guy has a Galra arm for fuck’s sake, it’s clearly unfair?). He </span>
  <em>
    <span>has </span>
  </em>
  <span>to know this is bizarre behavior for purely platonic guy friends. Unless, that is... he's trying to convey that he feels a little more than platonically, Lance’s brain wheedles. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>"No! Bad Lance!" </span>
  </em>
  <span>Lance admonishes internally, because first of all, there's </span>
  <em>
    <span>no way </span>
  </em>
  <span>Keith would like Lance, of all people, and second of all, they're real, honest-to-god </span>
  <em>
    <span>friends </span>
  </em>
  <span>now, and it'd be </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> stupid if Lance fucked that up by going and crushing on Keith. Lance would literally rather throw himself out the airlock than wreck their newfound friendship just because he's touch-starved in space and Keith is a handsome guy who just </span>
  <em>
    <span>happens</span>
  </em>
  <span> to touch him a lot. Even if it's a little weird for him to be doing so. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They reach Lance's room, and Lance is about to </span>
  <em>
    <span>lose his fucking marbles. </span>
  </em>
  <span>To save himself from further embarrassment, he swiftly moves in front of Keith, who's reaching to open the door, and says "Hey!" a little too loudly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith looks a little annoyed. "Yes, Lance?" he asks sternly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I uh - This space chocolate stuff is </span>
  <em>
    <span>bananas, </span>
  </em>
  <span>buddy, dude, pal! B-A-N-A-N-A-S! Let's go see Hunk for some more!" is the excuse he comes up with. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Real smooth</span>
  </em>
  <span>, McClain. When in a pinch, always use a Gwen Stefani lyric. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And is it just Lance or does Keith's face fall a little bit when he suggests that?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You can't think about something other than food for </span>
  <em>
    <span>one </span>
  </em>
  <span>tick, Lance?" Keith sighs, but he's already got his hand back on Lance's lower back and is guiding him in the direction of the kitchen. Lance immediately stiffens and looks anywhere but in Keith's eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which is </span>
  <em>
    <span>weird</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Keith thinks, because Lance always pesters Keith to make "regular eye contact, not weird, freaky, emo eye contact" with him. Lance </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>acting normal, but now he's acting weird, and Keith honestly has no fucking clue why. On one hand, he's glad that Lance said he wouldn’t treat him any different now that he knows Keith is part Galra - Keith doesn’t think he could’ve handled it if he thought Lance even had a drop of uncertainty about being his friend after this - but on the other hand, it's a little upsetting when Lance suddenly gets weird and shies away from Keith like this, because Keith never knows why he does it, doesn't know what Lance is perceiving that Keith isn't. Keith's never really been able to read into things, especially not like how Lance can. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Geez, what am I, your girlfriend, mullet?" Lance suddenly asks, looking straight ahead at nothing, mouth pulled into a tight faux-smirk. Lance will sometimes do this - this thing where he pretends to be joking with Keith, but he's asking something that he's not directly saying. It used to irritate the </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> out of Keith, and to be honest, it still totally does a little, because he knows Lance is trying to dodge actually sharing with Keith. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, why?" Keith says, frowning. He's honestly not sure why Lance is asking that - he hopes it's not because he's trying to hang out with Lance, but usually Lance is pretty happy to entertain him, no matter the time of day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You've got your hand on my back like. Like I'm, I don't know, a chick or something. Kind of awkward, dude," Lance says brusquely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith looks down, and lo-and-behold, his hand is on Lance's lower back, right where the skin is bare, palming the warm dimples sitting there with his gloves. Honestly, Keith didn't even really realize his hand had went there, because Lance's skin is silk smooth, rich and creamy like maple syrup, and Keith doesn't even think twice before touching him, because if Keith wants something, he'll just take it. He's not really a wishy-washy guy, and Lance is his friend, anyways, so he just... assumed it was fine. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Plus, he really didn't think it was a big deal, because Lance lets everyone else touch him way more than this - they'll watch Altean horror films, and Hunk will jump into Lance's lap, screaming, and they'll all laugh affectionately, and Lance will cradle Hunk and give him a wet, mocking kiss on the cheek, or Lance will grab Pidge and tickle her ribs til she’s clawing at Lance’s shoulders and kicking him and screaming, and then he’ll pick her up and swing her around like she weighs nothing, or how once, he tried to teach Allura how to salsa, and they twisted and bumped hips and he dipped her, all with a big, easy smile on his face, as though it was the easiest thing in the world for him. But apparently, touching Keith is difficult for Lance. Keith gets it - he's not the most pleasant guy. He's not cuddly like Hunk, or adorable like Pidge, or beautiful like Allura. He's hard, built-for-fighting, blister-fingered, lone wolf, alien boy Keith. He’s just… </span>
  <em>
    <span>different</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He's not built for loving, especially not in the way Lance is, all smooth and limber and smiley, shimmering like clear water. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But still, he thought that Lance didn't care about any of that, that he'd still like being with Keith all the same. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sorry," Keith says, removing his hand. He doesn't know what look he might have on his face right now, but whatever it is makes Lance's face crumble. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Shit, uh - no, you know what? It's fine, forget I said anything," Lance stutters, ears turning red, grabbing Keith's hand and placing it back into the same spot, practically flinching at the instant when skin meets skin.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith scowls, feeling slightly patronized by the gesture. He's okay with not touching Lance if Lance is uncomfortable with it. "It's okay, Lance, I get it. Not a problem," and he begins to pull his hand back, when Lance snatches it tightly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>No</span>
  </em>
  <span>!" Lance screeches, pulling Keith's hand back into the same spot. "We're </span>
  <em>
    <span>friends</span>
  </em>
  <span>! It's </span>
  <em>
    <span>fine</span>
  </em>
  <span>! It's not </span>
  <em>
    <span>gay</span>
  </em>
  <span>!". Keith's not sure who Lance is talking to at this point - Keith or himself - but either way, it's more than a little fucking weird.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What," Keith says, perplexed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lance is bright red and wow, he's sweating and baring his teeth at Keith like a wild animal. "It's </span>
  <em>
    <span>FINE,</span>
  </em>
  <span>" he grits out, grip steel tight around Keith's wrist, forcing him to splay his palm against Lance's back. Keith can feel a droplet of Lance's sweat run down between his fingers, and he wants to wipe it off, but Lance's pupils are small and wild, darting around like fish - he looks desperate and feral, and holy </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span>, this is </span>
  <em>
    <span>SO </span>
  </em>
  <span>weird, even by Keith's standards. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Luckily for them, at this very moment, Shiro chooses to emerge into the hallway from his room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey guys!" Shiro greets cheerfully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Hey, Shiro," Keith greets in return, raising his unoccupied hand at him in acknowledgement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>SCATTER</span>
  </em>
  <span>," Lance yells, voice hoarse - again to who, Keith doesn't know - and breaks into a sprint. He's a shockingly fast runner - Keith briefly wonders if Lance ever did track at any point. Fortunately for Keith, and rather unfortunately for Lance, Lance trips over his own untied shoelaces and falls. The space chocolates that Lance is holding skitter across the floor pathetically.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro rushes over, and Keith ambles placidly behind him towards the scene of the accident. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Whoa, are you okay, Lance?" Shiro asks, crouching down. Keith, being the Southern gentleman that he is, offers Lance his hand. Lance swats it away, looking utterly defeated. Keith doesn't know by what. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"L-looks like I've fallen for you, Shiro," Lance croaks out, weakly shooting a finger gun with one hand, and using the other to pop a demolished space chocolate into his mouth. Keith's not sure what reaction Lance is going for right now, but it's certainly not the look of combined confusion and revulsion that Shiro gives him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Uh, let's </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> do that, Lance," Shiro says, crinkling his brow and grimacing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lance drops his head to the floor with a dull thunk and remains there for a few seconds. Keith looks at Shiro, who raises a single brow at him. "</span>
  <em>
    <span>Is he okay?</span>
  </em>
  <span>" he mouths at Keith. Keith shrugs in response. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Right, okay, up you go, Lance," Shiro says, hauling Lance up by his armpits. Lance doesn't support himself, instead letting his feet drag limply against the ground, and he groans. "I'm </span>
  <em>
    <span>dead</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Shiro, and it's all Keith's </span>
  <em>
    <span>fault</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>murdered</span>
  </em>
  <span> me," pointing a floppy, accusing finger at Keith. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith scowls deeply, throwing his hands up in frustration. "I didn't do anything! You're so damn weird! You're the one who kept trying to put my hand back on you and then being all 'it's not gay, Keith!' about it!" </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Both of Shiro's eyebrows meet his hairline. Lance sniffs, still being held upright by Shiro, and turns his nose up at Keith haughtily. "</span>
  <em>
    <span>Well</span>
  </em>
  <span>," he says, like he has something to say. It turns out, after a minute of waiting, that he doesn't, and Shiro shoots Keith a look, meaning that he's going to drag Keith to "go training", meaning that Shiro will bring Keith to the training deck and force Keith to give him every single gory detail of what happened in between beating the ever loving shit out of him. It's</span>
  <em>
    <span> tons</span>
  </em>
  <span> of fun. Keith hates it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shiro lets go of Lance, forcing him to stand upright on his own, and sighs. "Okay, you two, I don't know what's going on, but Keith, don't murder Lance, and Lance, don't get murdered again, got it?" he says sternly, clapping them both on the shoulders. They both nod shamefully, and Shiro walks off, shaking his head as he does. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lance turns to the side, away from Keith, wrapping himself in his own arms protectively. If Keith cranes his neck, he can see Lance frowning ever so slightly, tugging some skin off his bottom lip absentmindedly (Keith wants to tell him to stop - Lance is always so diligent about applying lip balm, and he always yells at Keith for letting his lips get dry and crackly - it’d be a waste if he made himself bleed) but his eyes are shielded from view. Keith is definitely a little annoyed right now - Lance has just earned him a solid hour and a half of Shiro pulling teeth to try and get Keith to "open up" about his daily life happenings, and the worst part is that he </span>
  <em>
    <span>still</span>
  </em>
  <span> doesn't understand what's going on in Lance's head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because honestly? Keith actually kind of prides himself on understanding Lance a bit better than he does other people. It definitely was a learning curve for Keith, who’s usually hardly even conscious of other people, but he's realized that the boy is pretty predictable, and you don't even have to look at his entire face to see the full range of his emotions play out - all Keith really needs to know what Lance is thinking are his eyes, bright and blue and remarkably </span>
  <em>
    <span>open</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  But it certainly helps that Lance will also generally just... </span>
  <em>
    <span>express</span>
  </em>
  <span> his emotions - if Lance is pissed, he'll yell , if Lance is happy, he'll be smiling and laughing, so on and so forth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There's some things though that Lance refuses to be direct about though, like when he finds Keith working out on the training deck, and he'll just quietly watch Keith, eyes wide and continuously readjusting his position, putting one leg over the other, crossing and uncrossing, hands on his lap, clasped together, behind his back. And Keith will point it out, and Lance won't even really bite back; he'll just laugh awkwardly, apologize, and leave, and when Keith sees him at dinner, he's back to normal, happy, noisy Lance. Keith's never really bothered thinking much about it - at the end of the day, if Lance is happy, then he's happy, you know? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But right now, Lance certainly isn't </span>
  <em>
    <span>happy</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but Keith has no clue what the </span>
  <em>
    <span>hell</span>
  </em>
  <span> might be going through his big fucking head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What?" he decides to ask, hoping that Lance will tell him what's going on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lance looks up, gaze a little flat and heavily guarded. "Hm? Oh, nothing, nothing," he says, sticking his thumbs in his pocket and launching into a tuneless whistle, not meeting Keith's gaze. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Keith realizes, something sinking like silt in his stomach, a heavy feeling in his ribs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I know what's going on with you," Keith says. Lance begins to sputter incoherently, but Keith steamrolls on. "You actually do feel weird around me because I'm Galra. Isn't that it?" and at this, Lance's face absolutely just</span>
  <em>
    <span> falls</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and his eyes go sparkly and warm like the ocean at sunrise, and he says "Oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Keith,</span>
  </em>
  <span>" and he grabs one of Keith's hands in both of his and clutches their joined hands to his sternum, right above where his heart is. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Piano fingers</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Keith notes dimly, as they slot delicately between his own coarse ones. He bets Lance can probably play the piano beautifully. Lance is looking at him, something like a mixture of pity and an unidentifiable emotion, warm and overflowing and soft, in his eyes, an emotion that would irritate the </span>
  <em>
    <span>hell </span>
  </em>
  <span>out of Keith if it were coming from anybody else. But right now, all Keith can tell is that if he focuses a little bit, he can hear Lance's heartbeat, thumping warm and soft and slow under their hands. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Wait, for realsies?" Lance says, eyes wide, staring down at his own chest in surprise, as though he could see his heart beat in real time. Keith just realizes that he said that out loud. It’s just </span>
  <em>
    <span>true</span>
  </em>
  <span> though, so he doesn’t feel weird about it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah. Listen closely," Keith says. Lance's shirt is thin, and he can feel the slight planes of muscle that Lance has slowly built up on his chest in the past couple of months, burning into the meat of Keith’s palms. To Keith, it feels like there's barely anything between Keith's hand and Lance's heart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lance frowns. "I can't hear it," he says, a slight whine to his voice. It makes Keith want to smile, just a little bit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Just </span>
  <em>
    <span>focus</span>
  </em>
  <span>," Keith chides gently. He wants Lance to hear it too - it’s a comforting, sweet rhythm. It feels like every part of Lance has the same musical charm, the cadence of his steps, his chiming laugh, the beat-by-beat swing of his legs when he’s sitting, the way he taps his fingers. It’s slowly becoming Keith’s favorite song. It’s the same one that must be inside himself, Keith realizes when he closes his eyes and really, really, really focuses, and he can hear his own heartbeat, thrumming at the same pace, exactly the same slow, gentle percussion of Lance’s heartbeat. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>needs</span>
  </em>
  <span> Lance to hear it, to </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel</span>
  </em>
  <span> their connection the way Keith can. Keith doesn’t want to be alone on this wavelength. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> be. He wants to be hearing the same songs that Lance is, breathing the same air, wants to be able to stand behind him and see the same rosy sky that Lance does. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lance squeezes his eyes shut and his frown deepens. Keith can tell the idiot is fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>clenching</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and he feels the sides of his mouth twitch up involuntarily at the sight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I can't hear a thing, mullet! I think you just have, like, freaky Galra hearing or something, like a bat or some shit, " Lance says, collapsing slightly, panting and laughing a little breathlessly when he finally unclenches. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith pulls his hand back from Lance forcefully, like he's been burnt, and Lance stumbles back from the sharp movement, nearly tripping over his damn shoelaces again. Oh </span>
  <em>
    <span>Christ on a cracker</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Lance knows immediately what he’s done, and he feels like a total </span>
  <em>
    <span>asshole</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> off, Lance," Keith snarls, voice cracking a little as he says it, hands clenching into fists, teeth sharp and eyes shiny. He's angry, Lance realizes, but he also looks really fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>sad, </span>
  </em>
  <span>like he's berating himself more than anything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Keith," he starts, but Keith's already picked up his bayard and is stomping down the hallway back to his room. "Keith, wait!" Lance calls, starting to speed walk after him . He's still not sure whether to really go after him or not, but Keith kind of makes that decision for him by picking up the bowl that the fallen space chocolates were in, and chucking it at the wall. It literally </span>
  <em>
    <span>crumples </span>
  </em>
  <span>with the impact. Lance is </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely</span>
  </em>
  <span> waiting until Keith is a little calmer - he doesn't want Keith to </span>
  <em>
    <span>break his goddamn skull </span>
  </em>
  <span>like he’s the bowl. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lance feels like the biggest shit head in the world - sure, he's a little surprised Keith is </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> mad, but... yeah, if he was in the same position, he'd feel kind of rejected too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It surprises Lance, though, because, </span>
  <em>
    <span>yeah, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Lance </span>
  <em>
    <span>would </span>
  </em>
  <span>be hurt too by this kind of thing, but he never expected Keith to be, because Keith is </span>
  <em>
    <span>strong. </span>
  </em>
  <span>And it's not in that sense that Lance might mistakenly think Keith is immune to emotional hurt, or is wholly unflappable by any means, because he's damn well aware that Keith is just a nineteen year old boy like himself, but it's that he's not </span>
  <em>
    <span>sensitive </span>
  </em>
  <span>like Lance is, not prone to overthinking and assuming the worst about himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith is </span>
  <em>
    <span>confident</span>
  </em>
  <span> - he's not like Lance, who slouches and slinks and volleys fast, in and out of the spotlight at his heart's whim. He stands up straight, and every step he takes is heavy and firm, every twitch of his muscles deliberate and slow, as though the eyes of the everyone in the room are on him. Keith commands attention when he moves - his very appearance carries the same unyielding heat as himself, all striking, starry eyes and tense muscle, posture straight, tall and unwavering like his bayard, slicing out a broad, diamond-hard shadow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith looks like he was born ready for anything. Lance knows Keith is probably used to feeling abandoned and rejected - the guy's an </span>
  <em>
    <span>orphan</span>
  </em>
  <span> for fuck's sake - but Keith has a pretty thick skin. Lance would know - he spent the entirety of his teen years talking extensive smack about the boy behind his back (and a little in front of his face), and it took being alone together in space for Keith to </span>
  <em>
    <span>finally</span>
  </em>
  <span> buckle under the scrutiny. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So that's why it </span>
  <em>
    <span>jars</span>
  </em>
  <span> Lance to see Keith like this - hunched in protectively over himself, eyes glittering like broken glass, punching a black hole into Lance's gut - because that's what </span>
  <em>
    <span>Lance</span>
  </em>
  <span> does. He's so used to Keith protecting all of the rest of them, protecting dumb, fragile, weak </span>
  <em>
    <span>Lance</span>
  </em>
  <span>, turning that sharp, burning gaze onto the outside, so all Lance can see are the flexing muscles of his back and the soft, black hair, curling like wisps of burnt paper around his pale neck. Lance values that about Keith - it's stupid, and maybe kind of unmanly of Lance, but he feels </span>
  <em>
    <span>safe </span>
  </em>
  <span>around Keith.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it feels </span>
  <em>
    <span>horrible</span>
  </em>
  <span> to see Keith break down like this, because it really does take a </span>
  <em>
    <span>lot</span>
  </em>
  <span> to put a guy as tenacious as Keith into a state like this, and it's totally, irrevocably, undeniably Lance's fault. Lance knows he can be a dick sometimes - the entire situation must be a massive pressure cooker for Keith, especially considering that he grew up the way he did. Lance wonders how much he knew about where he came from, growing up - Lance is lucky to have had the experience of growing up living in Cuba and speaking Spanish every day to the people around him, the language weaving seamlessly into Lance's notions of love itself, but being part alien is... </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>different from that, Lance guesses. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lance feels guilt swell up inside of him, because it hits him again that even though Keith found out where he's from, all he must be feeling is overwhelming, consuming </span>
  <em>
    <span>loneliness</span>
  </em>
  <span>, part alien, part human, barely able to piece himself together, nowhere to go. It's not the "hurr hurr Galra purple scary" nature of Lance's joke that hurt Keith - like Keith would even </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> what a fucking micro-aggression is - it's the </span>
  <em>
    <span>othering</span>
  </em>
  <span> of it, the “you and I, we’re immeasurably different, there is a bridge between us that cannot be crossed,” how their hearts beat the same damn beat as one another’s, </span>
  <em>
    <span>lub-dub, lub-dub</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and yet Lance couldn't hear it, wasn't feeling the same thing Keith felt, was a million miles away in Keith's eyes, despite being not even three inches from Keith's face.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fact that Lance told him that Keith was</span>
  <em>
    <span> theirs</span>
  </em>
  <span>, that they </span>
  <em>
    <span>always</span>
  </em>
  <span> have Keith’s back, and then pushed him away like the big fucking fool that he is. He was so awkward about Keith touching him that he wasn’t even thinking about how Keith must’ve felt, how cold and strange it must’ve seemed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And the worst part is, Lance knows exactly why he said it, beyond just thoughtless awkwardness. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows</span>
  </em>
  <span> he felt something stirring behind his ribs, something hot and fragile like freshly blown glass, something that could grow big and strong inside of him and nearly break him in two, something that’s knocking on his door like the reaper, coming to sweep him up and take him away. Keith, his fond, fiery eyes, and their joined hands over Lance’s heart. He thinks he knows what Keith must have been hearing inside of him, and Lance didn’t want to hear it, because it </span>
  <em>
    <span>terrifies</span>
  </em>
  <span> him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Lance doesn't even know where to </span>
  <em>
    <span>start</span>
  </em>
  <span> with apologizing, because apologizing to Keith is </span>
  <em>
    <span>hard.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Not because Keith won’t accept a sincere and honest apology, but because Lance wants to give Keith the apology he deserves. He wants Keith to genuinely feel that he’s one of them, feel their warmth and affection enveloping him like a blanket fresh out of the dryer. Lance wishes he could take away Keith’s pain, but all he can do is be </span>
  <em>
    <span>there</span>
  </em>
  <span> for Keith, an open, loving presence for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span> It's times like these where he needs to consult with a higher power, someone with a much wider berth of knowledge than mere, puny, mortal Lance himself has - the most illustrious, kindest, cuddliest, most generous, big league hottie and all round incredible person, Lance's very own bestie, Hunk Garrett. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He probably knows what Keith's favorite food is, right? That seems like a pretty good place to start to Lance. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>KEITH IS PIIIISSED LMAO but dont worry....all will be resolved....eventually!!!!!!!! THAKN YALL FOR READING!!! &lt;33</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. ontology (hunk's interlude)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>BONUS CHAPTER FOR OUR BEST BOY HUNK'S BIRTHDAY!!!!!! a day late granted, but i love hunk &amp; lance's friendship SO GODDAMN MUCH i feel like its so underrated so HERE YALL ARE :D more direct klance content coming next tuesday hehe</p><p> </p><p>  <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1EpckbLc5sGKPTUkcbIvL3?si=cLnesfAHT6WPBL_cNY789w">spotify playlist for this fic!</a></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Hunk's first meeting with Lance went like this: Lance, in a pair of jeans that were a size too big with no belt, walking up a flight of stairs at the Garrison during orientation week, Hunk, walking directly behind him, along with like, at least five dozen other freshmen both behind and in front of them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hunk, wearing heavy boots, stepping on the hem of Lance's floppy, frayed jeans. Those floppy, frayed jeans losing their tenuous grip on Lance's bony butt and falling straight down. Lance's bright green, leprechaun printed, "</span>
  <em>
    <span>Kiss Me, I'm Irish!</span>
  </em>
  <span>" boxers directly in Hunk's face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Hunk, being the nice guy that he is, didn't even laugh! The rest of the freshmen began to lose their shit, but Hunk just stopped walking, and said "Dude, your pants fell down!", and Lance turned around, ears bright red but still somehow grinning through the embarrassment, and said to Hunk, "Just enjoy the view then, man," and shucked his pants off and just... kept walking up the stairs in his underwear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that, folks, was when Hunk Garrett decided that he wanted Lance McClain to be his best friend. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn't the sight of Lance's flat ass, or his weird, slogan boxers, or his too-big jeans ("My mom got them for me! She made me promise to wear them!" Lance clarified later), that compelled Hunk to try to be friends with Lance. To be honest, those things were kind of active platonic turn-offs for Hunk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was Lance's </span>
  <em>
    <span>decisiveness</span>
  </em>
  <span> - how when confronted with everyone's first day of school nightmare, Lance took it in stride, just swanned around the stairwell like it was nobody's business. Hunk, personally, would have started crying if that happened to him during freshman orientation at the fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>Garrison</span>
  </em>
  <span> of all places, with all those unfamiliar kids pointing and laughing, but Lance had just walked up those stairs and made eye contact with </span>
  <em>
    <span>everyone</span>
  </em>
  <span>, laughing and chatting and passing out high fives like this happened to him every day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hunk remembers looking up at Lance, in the flight of stairs just above him, grinning big and white and toothy under the fluorescent lights, neon boxers shining like a beacon, and thinking that Lance was probably the coolest guy in the universe for it, because of how quickly Lance had made the choice to just </span>
  <em>
    <span>handle </span>
  </em>
  <span>it - not run away, not hide, but to just stand tall and proud under the spotlights, pointed right at him and his bare, skinny legs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because people actually have a lot of misconceptions about Hunk and Lance's friendship. Like how everyone thinks Hunk's the mature one out of the two of them, but Hunk can definitely argue otherwise, because they both are, just in their own ways. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sure, Hunk is the entirety of Lance's impulse control, but Lance is the one who can make decisions. Hunk's the kind of person who goes to the convenience store and can't decide what flavor of chips to buy so he just buys all of them, but with Lance, he'll see Hunk waffling over Takis or Doritos and asks him, "Well, are you in the mood for tubes or triangles?" and Hunk will say "I mean, tubes, I guess, but tri-" and Lance will grab the Takis for him and just... go to the checkout counter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hunk remembers one night in the late spring at the Garrison, during tornado season, when everything is overheated, hazy and dusty like a hot oven, and Lance had buzzed his head. He remembers Lance with the clippers. Lance has always had steady hands - when Lance's sister, Veronica, was a senior when they were freshmen, she'd come over to their dorm before her big-kid parties and Lance would hold her head with firm hands and sharp eyes, use that little pen to draw the flick over her eyelashes, clean, precise, and black as coal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Lance, scrawny and shirtless in their shared bathroom, shaving down straight, quick lines through his fluffy, chocolate, curls, the razor purring like an engine. Lance smiling, big and easy and </span>
  <em>
    <span>comfortable</span>
  </em>
  <span> at Hunk, as though it was the same thing as shaving off the stupid scruffy faux-mustache that boys of that age always misguidedly try to grow. Hunk had frowned and told Lance that he'd probably regret shaving off all of his beautiful hair, that the growing out stage of it would suck, and Lance turned off the clippers and </span>
  <em>
    <span>laughed </span>
  </em>
  <span>at Hunk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Hunk was a little offended, because he honestly was just trying to look out for Lance! He didn't want Lance to give himself a haircut that he might hate, you know? But Lance had looked at him with the sharpest, clearest eyes Hunk had ever seen on him, looking so small and naked without all of his hair, but somehow shining bigger and brighter than ever, and told Hunk, "I won't regret it, Hunk - it's </span>
  <em>
    <span>my </span>
  </em>
  <span>decision, after all," and somehow, that determined, reckless look in his eyes made Hunk trust all of Lance's decisions </span>
  <em>
    <span>infinitely</span>
  </em>
  <span> more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But honestly, and now, it embarrasses Hunk to admit this, it actually took a little while for Hunk to really see all the ways in which Lance is pretty mature, because Lance sometimes says the stupidest jokes, and breaks his back trying to get people to notice him, and has the worst impulse control Hunk has ever seen, and it frustrates Hunk, because honestly, if Lance was just himself, things would go so much better for him, but it's so hard for Lance to just </span>
  <em>
    <span>see</span>
  </em>
  <span> that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It makes Hunk sad, because Lance thinks his best moments are when he goes a particularly fancy run in the simulator because he stayed up all night practices and steps out, curls tousled just right and grinning big, and Iverson gives him a grudging, "Not bad, cadet," and then Lance will flip his "They call me the Tailor, because I thread that needle!" line at the crowd of exhausted fellow cadets waiting for their turn on the simulator. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or when he's leaning close to one of the few girls that bear a slightly more than passing fancy towards him, and he gives her a dopey grin, and says "Wanna see how many origami paper planes I can make in a minute?" and she'll politely say, "Sure," and then Lance will make like, five max, and she'll politely clap her hands and Lance will puff up and give her that dumb, patented Lance McClain million watt grin and say "There's more where that came from!" or something equally confusing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because those aren't his best moments, not by a </span>
  <em>
    <span>long shot</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's in the dead of the night, after Lance screamed in the hangars while Hunk and Pidge were fiddling around with Green's cloaking, and Hunk accidentally dropped a wrench on his own foot, and Lance comes to his room with a hot towel and a sheepish grin and massages Hunk's foot, even though it doesn't really hurt anymore, and they'll just talk quietly about nothing and everything, Lance's eyes soft and sleepy and full of affection. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When they're planetside for a mission, on some adorable, flowery planet called Tunus, and the little Tunusans, these adorable bunny rabbit-y looking creatures, except they have </span>
  <em>
    <span>four</span>
  </em>
  <span> of those big, sparkling bunny eyes, are scuttling excitedly around the paladins, particularly Keith (who's standing there, confused and unsure of whether to hug them or fight them) and Shiro (who is very formally and politely asking them about their military defenses). </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Lance is kind of standing alone on the side, leaning against his lion, probably moping about the lack of attention he's receiving, when one of them comes up and taps on the leg of Lance's armor, all four eyes wet, little nose quivering, and Lance immediately perks up a bit, swinging the Tunusan onto his hip and bouncing it with a big smile. It begins sobbing, and it's mumbling something between its tears at Lance, and Lance is clearly taking it very seriously, nodding between its words, determination evident on his face. He then sets the alien down and stalks off purposefully into the nearby woods - Hunk is about to follow him, but he's stopped by the leader of the Tunusans jumping into his arms and pounding on his chest while yelling something.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Lance comes back out of the woods, he's got a couple of bleeding nicks across his cheekbones, and he's carrying a </span>
  <em>
    <span>very</span>
  </em>
  <span> small and </span>
  <em>
    <span>very </span>
  </em>
  <span>fluffy little thing in his arms, and he bends down and gently places it into the Tunusan's stubby arms, and the Tunusan is sobbing happily, and Lance smiles kindly and goes back to his place leaning against Blue. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then, after a couple of minutes, Shiro turns around, perhaps looking for a brief respite from the Tunusans accosting him, and says, "Hey, where'd you head off to, Lance?" and Lance shrugs and says "Oh, that little guy's pet climbed up a tree and he didn't know how to get it down," pointing vaguely off at the small huddle of Tunusans forming around Pidge, who's entertaining them with a little jack-in-the-box she made, and that's when the Tunusans suddenly go </span>
  <em>
    <span>ape.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
  <span>They start swarming underneath Lance and squealing, and somehow, their combined strength manages to lift Lance up into the air and</span>
  <em>
    <span> throw </span>
  </em>
  <span>him and subsequently catch him too? And Lance is laughing in shock, his curls tousling up with each throw into the air, eyes glimmering and armor shimmering whitely in the sunlight, the biggest, sweetest smile on his face, and soon Hunk and Pidge are laughing too, and Shiro is grinning and shaking his head, and even </span>
  <em>
    <span>Keith</span>
  </em>
  <span> is laughing a little bit underneath his glove. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's Lance at his most loving, heart opened up like a big flower, eyes as wide and bright as the night sky, something overwhelming behind them, like all of the moments of strange, existential beyond-ness they have up here, sweetened because they're together. Lance, when he's absentmindedly swinging Hunk's hand in his own, the unspoken eternity of </span>
  <em>
    <span>them</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Lance at his softest, practically bleeding light - </span>
  <em>
    <span>that's</span>
  </em>
  <span> Lance at his best. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because being here is undeniably bizarre as hell. Space is vast, and so sad to Hunk, who's so used to his life sitting in the palms of his hands - his mama and mom and his cousins, Lance and the Garrison, they're all that same little sphere of molten love, a little golden thing that Hunk can roll around between his fingers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hunk has always been a man of the small things - his mom's nearly hollowed out lipstick tubes that she doesn't like to throw out because his mama got them for her, his mama's water bottle that his mom puts a squirt of lemon, a pinch of ginger, and a sprig of lavender in, every single morning before his mama goes to work, the greasy stains on his big cousin's hands from all the days he's spent underneath the hood of a car, the green marker scribble on the cheek of his little cousin's favorite doll, the careful, precise way Lance applies his pomegranate flavored lip balm, even though it’s invisible - that's what the world is to Hunk, the tiny, simple things that add up to love. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But up here, nothing is small. Keith, funny guy that he is, seems kind of used to it - </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything's bigger in Texas, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Hunk thinks - but the rest of them are floundering. It terrifies Hunk to look outside of the castle ship sometimes, because Hunk's the kind of guy who used to think the I-75 was intimidating, but there's no sign markers here, no indications of anything. Sometimes Hunk wishes that they would reach the end of it all - that they'd arrive at the edge of the universe, and there'd be a little wooden sign that says "Turn Around!". But there's no end in sight or theory - the stars continue on, and on, and on, big and flaming and slowly dying. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There's nothing for Hunk to hold on to up here, nothing that he knows. The Balmera felt a little bit like something to him, because they all loved each other so immensely on that planet, that big animal that they gave to, loved, called home  - Shay, with her golden eyes and earrings so big Hunk could put his hand through the hole, (Shay convinced him to try and they confirmed this to indeed be true), and her even bigger heart, how all she wanted, what she thought was so big, was something that Hunk had always taken for granted, to see the chartreuse skies of her Balmera. And she confessed to Hunk, her hand wrapped tightly in his, that even though she was excited to one day see the sky, she was scared too, frightened of her relative smallness against something so big and unending. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She told Hunk she felt like it would consume her and her family, who had all known nothing but the dark, oily innards of their Balmera. They'd catch glimpses of ships flying above them sometimes, and Shay wondered what it would be like to be inside such a machine. "You must feel like you are king of the galaxy, higher than Zarkon himself, being able to rise above everything, see the beginning and end of it all so clearly." she said, smiling in that thoughtful way of hers, sitting on top of the Yellow Lion as the Balmeran sun began to set. Hunk had laughed, squeezing her hand. "Honestly, Shay? I feel like </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing</span>
  </em>
  <span> up there." he said, shaking his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Shay is clearly a lot braver than him, because she pleaded with Hunk for a ride in his Lion, even though Hunk told her that she might think it's scary because being inside the Lion is a little bit like being in a sensory deprivation tank but also having every sense live-wired to your surroundings at once, but he can't really say no to Shay, so he let her sit next to him in the cockpit as he piloted, and she </span>
  <em>
    <span>loved </span>
  </em>
  <span>it, and it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>amazing</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then everything felt a little different for Hunk, because seeing Shay's eyes go wide and her mouth break into the biggest smile he's ever seen on her, and the way she clung to Hunk's shoulders tightly with her heavy, clawed grip, the ridges on her thumbs scratching his neck, giggles bubbling out of her mouth and sticking to Hunk's brain like spun sugar, was one of the greatest things Hunk has ever seen in his entire life. When he went in for a dive, holding back his puke, trying to impress her, she squealed and yelled, squeezing him tightly, "The sky is more incredible than I could have ever even imagined, Hunk!" and for once, Hunk agreed with that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And after that, when Hunk is scared of the nothingness and everything-ness, the circular, timeless, emptiness of space, he tries to remember that Shay is out there, eating cave bug soup with her family, beneath the muddy sky of the Balmera, and that she's remembering that little trip in his Lion, hopefully even remembering him, and he feels a little bit less scared. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Lance, in the same vein, also helps a lot with that, because sure, even though it was kind of at Lance's behest that Hunk is now stuck in deep space, piloting a giant mechanical sentient robot lion, Lance is </span>
  <em>
    <span>there, </span>
  </em>
  <span>the other leg of Voltron, right beside him every damn day of the week like he's always been. It makes Hunk feel a little more at ease, because Lance knows what’s inside of Hunk’s heart, knows the same Earth that Hunk knows, the same little, golden world in both of their palms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because Lance remembers the little things too - Lance will sit behind Hunk like a bony pillow and will make little baby braids in Hunk's slightly too short but a little too long hair, and he'll tell Hunk about Veronica, how when she was twelve she used to have beautiful, long hair, flowing all the way down her back, and Lance, who was eight, would help her put it in all kinds of elaborate braids and twists. But then some stupid, jealous girl blew some bubblegum into her hair, and Lance's mom tried to get it out very carefully with some olive oil and an old toothbrush, but reckless Ronnie got frustrated and just cut it all off, made it all choppy and jagged, and Lance's mom had literally screamed bloody murder when she saw what Ronnie had done, sitting in the middle of their sugar maple floor with a big, toothy grin on her face, surrounded by about a foot and a half of hair. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then Lance's dad had cut it smooth for her, and the next day, the eighth grade girl that Ronnie always talked about at dinnertime told Ronnie her new bob looked cute, and because Ronnie's more sentimental than she likes to admit, she's kept the hair style ever since, Lance concludes, tying off the last of ten, dainty braids on the back of Hunk's head with a flourish. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Hunk </span>
  <em>
    <span>knows</span>
  </em>
  <span> these things - he never knew Veronica that well, but he knew her curly bob very well, and how steadfastly she took take care of it (oil it, scrunch it, sleep on silk, wrap it up in a bonnet, but never, ever, </span>
  <em>
    <span>ever</span>
  </em>
  <span> comb it) and how she came to Lance for trims on the last Sunday of every month. Lance, with his long, steady fingers, precisely pulling through her curls, raising each one to 12 o'clock, then slicing it with a heavy, solid snip, and between those, they'd speak quietly, swirling quickly between Spanish and English, and sometimes a little bit of both at once, and then Lance would brush the fallen curls off her shoulders, twirl her around, and present her to herself, a halo of dark brown hair surrounding them on the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And every month, she'd act like it was something brand new, turning around and kissing Lance all over his face, leaving pink lipstick tracks and little hairs all over him, and Lance would just look at her with soft, warm eyes, squeezing her like he'd never let go, and he'd never even care about it - she'd leave, and it'd be around noon, and he'd just sit like that at his desk, kiss stained and covered in loose curls, until his nighttime shower. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Hunk gets it, because he'd do the exact same thing - his mama and mom would come visit him at the Garrison once in a while, and his mom would be wearing her red lipstick, and her bandana, the same as the one Hunk likes to wear, and his mama would be soaked in honey sweet perfume, and they'd wrap their arms around Hunk, who's now double both of their sizes combined, and squeeze as tight as they can, leaving imprints of themselves on him, and when they'd leave, he'd be dizzy from the smell of perfume and waxy lipstick, and he'd just lay in bed letting it consume him, warm and fuzzy, as though they'd never even left him in the first place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But now he's went and left them, them and the little, tender ways they loved him, and the ways he loved them back, small and fierce and undying, like the little sparking flame of a lantern. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And so sometimes, when Lance is talking about Ronnie and her hair, or the permanent bruise on Rachel's left knee because she's been trying to do that one trick with the soccer ball since she was fourteen, or how Luis came home with Lisa one Christmas, and she was already pregnant, and Lance's mother was so mad, because they weren't even married yet, until she was the first one to hear Nadia and Silvio kick, and then she and Lance's dad built them a whole nursery, Hunk will start to cry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Lance will slink down from behind him, and Hunk will look at him, and Lance's face will be open and wet, because he's been crying back there too, and he'll smush Hunk's cheeks together and laugh damply and he says that </span>
  <em>
    <span>Keith</span>
  </em>
  <span>, much to Hunk's surprise (because when did those two become </span>
  <em>
    <span>such</span>
  </em>
  <span> good friends?) told him something that made a lot of sense, "They're loving you through the stars," Lance says, "that's what Keith's dad told him, apparently and then Keith told that to me," and he grins wetly at Hunk, and Hunk says, through squished cheeks, "’nd chow </span>
  <em>
    <span>you're</span>
  </em>
  <span> chelling </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>." and that makes them both crack up for some reason. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because it hits the nail on the head for the both of them - that even though he misses his family to hell and back, and even though he's </span>
  <em>
    <span>terrified</span>
  </em>
  <span> every damn day of his life, Hunk can deal, because Lance is here, right beside him, and if there's one thing Hunk is grateful for, it's that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So when Lance swans into the kitchen one day, looking absolutely distraught but fiercely determined at the same time, and slams his bony hands on the table, and says "We need to have a 'Congrats on Being Galra' party for Keith," Hunk doesn't even think before he says "Hell yeah!". </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And</span>
  <em>
    <span> then</span>
  </em>
  <span> it kind of occurs to him exactly what Lance just said, and he kind of regrets it a little bit, but with the look on Lance's face, it's too late to back out now, isn't it? </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. the divine and the desperate</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>NEW CHAP WOO WOO thank u all for reading i hope yall enjoy!!!!!!! &lt;333</p><p> </p><p>  <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1EpckbLc5sGKPTUkcbIvL3?si=cLnesfAHT6WPBL_cNY789w">spotify playlist for this fic!</a></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Keith can't sleep. </p><p>That's apparently called insomnia, and according to thirteen year old Keith's cursory Googling on the rickety computers at the library in the sleepy downtown area, an hour north from his shack, it is a common sleep disorder, affecting as many as 35% of adults. </p><p>Keith wonders why so many people can't sleep - that's more than a third of the world laying awake in bed, rolling side to side, choking on their own hair, eyes open and Colgate white in the dark, breathing, thinking,<em> running </em>. Are they all the same as him? </p><p>Keith and his dad would sometimes take trips up from their shack to downtown to go to the bank. It wasn't a very big city, but it was a city nonetheless. Smoky, blurry, fast, and totally untouchable. </p><p>The people walking would walk quickly, knocking into each other, with their heads straight down, the buildings were so tall that they seemed to curve over the sidewalk, and the sky flattened into something hard and compressed, the upper limit of dreams. "Something's in the air," his dad would say, slow with sympathy and shaking his head, a warm spot in the chill. Keith couldn't tell if he meant the smog, or the emptiness, bone-crushing like the pressure at the bottom of the sea. </p><p>To Keith, the city seemed irreparably broken, a purgatory for the people who's hearts had stopped beating long ago, and they were left wanting, searching, begging around every corner for something to fill it up again, make the merry-go-round spin. Faster, harder, higher, deeper, be the bullet, not the gun. They'd have this hollow blue flame in their eyes, like they saw that little bright thing fluttering inside of everyone, and wanted to take it, put it up in a glass case, smash it, burn it, eat it whole. Keith used to feel so bad for those people. Now, they just piss him off. </p><p>Keith thinks those are the kinds of people who can't sleep, because Keith is one of those people. </p><p>But it's <em> different </em> from those city folks, who are thinking too hard about everything, writing poetry about everything, smoking and drinking about everything, trying to have a birds eye view of everything. Like they see the universe through a camera lens - the right angle, the right perspective, the right lighting, put a laugh track on it, is that filter too yellow? Be sardonic about it, wear a scarf about it, smile furtively about it, make some money about it. <em> That </em>, Keith doesn't get. Life is just life - there's no point in trying to make it something else, something bigger, something smaller, something sexier, something cooler.</p><p>But Keith gets the feeling of <em> speed </em>. He gets why those businessmen do drugs in the bathroom, why those rich girls at his old public school would sneak lipsticks out of the shopping mall without paying, why that lonely housewife takes a zillion percocets and some rosé, and comes to in the front seat of her sedan, which is halfway submerged in the creek. Break the window, run through the glass, feel the cool air slice your skin, be the limp body falling from the balcony. Hit the ground and don't stop, don't lie down, don't die, just spring up like the start gun and keep running. Life is the split second right between the solid pavement, the tipping, red sky, and the broken rib afterwards. </p><p>Keith gets it, laying in bed, boots on and feverishly cold, one blanket and one pillow on a rock hard mattress, blood laying just behind the eyes and tipping back into the brain. He's not smiling, he's baring his teeth like how a feral dog does. He can't help it - it's just what his body does. The body without a soul, the flesh without blood. Tonight, Keith isn't even angry, at least no more than usual - he's just sad. </p><p>And the thing is, for years, he'd stay awake like this, unable to sleep, doing push-ups in the kitchen, running laps around the shack, driving his bike out to the canyon and doing jumps over it, going to motel parking lots and jacking cars, just for the hell of it, and leaving them to rot wherever he so pleased. He didn't know why he did it - he just did it. </p><p>And then he came to space, and then suddenly he was actually able to sleep, and the worst part was when he figured out why. </p><p>When he walked into the kitchen for breakfast, one day, shockingly well-rested, and Lance was there, beaming at him, two long, tapered vegetables sticking out of his upper lip. "He's a walrus!" Pidge had shrieked, unusually amused by Lance’s antics, cackling like the child she really is. And Shiro was shaking his head fondly, and Coran was asking "What is a walrus?", and Allura was stifling her twinkly giggles with a slender hand, and Hunk was passing out some aromatic, orange lump on a plate to everyone with a big smile on his face. </p><p>And then Lance had taken the stupid vegetables out of his mouth, turned, and smiled at Keith like honey, and asked "Sleep well, mullet?". And as Keith sat down at the table, he felt something between abject, paralyzing fear and absolute, sanctifying devotion twist in his stomach, and he let it fill him, searing all the way up to his throat, and he said "Yeah," with a big smile back, and that feeling had snuck all the way up without his noticing and made his heart a home. </p><p>But tonight, Keith can't sleep again. </p><p>Keith is a Galra. Keith Kogane is a Galra. I am Galra. </p><p>He tests out these on his tongue. They all taste like blood. </p><p>And he remembers Lance's soft eyes, his soft smile, his soft skin, and then he really tastes blood, metal flooding his mouth, the sharp sting of pain coming after, when he realizes he's bitten halfway down his tongue. <em> Ouch </em>. </p><p>What hurts more than that, more than anything, is that Lance had drawn the line between them - did Keith's touch feel like claws on his skin? Did his eyes glow yellow like a predator when he looked into Lance's eyes? Did Lance see the blood on his canines? </p><p>Keith fights like a Galra soldier. That's what Zarkon told him, and he sees it now, because that's how Keith is with <em> everything </em> . Once he gets a taste, he comes back for more, more, <em> more </em>. One fist comes, then the other, just like walking, and they never stop. "You're headstrong, Keith. You know what you want. You're an ambitious kid," Shiro had told him, ruffling his hair, making it sound like something strong, something beautiful, something righteous. But he sees now what it truly is - it's hunger, it's thirst, it's cocksure desperation. It's instinctual, a part of Keith's body, just the same as his lungs and his heart. Victory or death, right? </p><p>And maybe <em> that's </em> what Lance saw, the burning in Keith's body, the sacrificial pyre roaring inside of him, all for Lance, and Lance only. That perhaps he saw that there <em> isn't </em> really a heart thumping inside of Keith, tender and gooey like Lance's, but a war, a biblical carnage. A gunshot, and then a dove spiraling to the ground, feathers and smoke. It's not that Keith thinks he will hurt Lance - it's the opposite. Keith knows he would kill for Lance, would die for Lance a thousand times over.  </p><p>And it's very true that Keith would do this for the entire team, but it's somehow <em> different </em> with Lance. Something much bigger, something that fills up Keith's whole body with a warm, buzzing bliss. It's terrifying and it feels <em> so </em> good, better than anything Keith has ever experienced in his life. He never wants it to stop. </p><p>Sometimes, Lance is so wonderful, with his curls, and the way he's always got his legs twisting up in the air, and his blue-as-twilight eyes, and his loud, sing song-y voice, that Keith wants to eat him whole. He wants to sink his teeth right into Lance's motor mouth, wants to put his hand right around Lance's heart and feel it in his palm like a pearl, wants to hold Lance in his chest like Lance himself is Keith's heartbeat. </p><p>Keith thinks that if Lance were here, sitting on the bed, crossing his long legs by Keith's head, his piano fingers running through Keith's hair as Keith is laying there, he could definitely sleep. Or, if Keith allows himself the luxury to imagine, another bonding moment: Lance cradled in his arms, his heart beating directly against Keith's own, the sweetest of lullabies. Keith knows that Lance looks peaceful when he sleeps, curls messy and lips parted slackly, with steady, rhythmic breaths, soft as a cloud. He's so <em> good </em> at sleeping, it fascinates Keith. And Keith knows that if he looks very closely, he can even see faint freckles scattered across Lance's jawline. </p><p>And Keith wanted to touch all of them, <em> feel </em> them, burn every inch of sleeping Lance like a brand into his memories, but Lance looked so perfect in his arms that night, under the star map in the control room, that he couldn't bear to move, not even a millimeter. Lance had woke up that morning, bright and early, yawning and stretching, and asked Keith "Sleep well, mullet?", and Keith had said "Yeah," with a smile, even though he didn't sleep a wink that night because he wanted to make sure that Lance slept perfectly, protect him from all the things that go bump in the night. </p><p>But this is all nothing at all, because Lance doesn't want Keith, not even in a fraction of the way that Keith wants Lance. So, that is why Keith cannot sleep tonight. </p><p>So, Keith puts on his Paladin armor and his doors hiss open, and in front of them, a sleeping Lance gently tips over, startling awake. Keith nearly draws his bayard because he's so surprised by the sight. Lance is in his pajamas and lion slippers, wrapped up in a blue blanket with his face mask on, and he's shielding his eyes from the fluorescent light of Keith's open bedroom. </p><p>"Lance, <em>what</em> <em>the hell</em> are you doing here?" Keith whisper-yells. </p><p>Lance blinks blearily at him, eyelids shiny from the mask. "Oh," he says. Keith sighs and pulls him upright.</p><p>"Why are you sleeping out here, Lance?" he asks, steadying Lance's shoulders as the boy teeters sleepily. Lance pulls his blanket tighter around himself and frowns a little bit. </p><p>"I - well, I just wanted to see if you're okay," Lance says, voice soft and drawn in. </p><p>"I'm fine," Keith says, surprised by the shakiness of his own voice. </p><p>Lance cocks his head to the side, frown deepening. "Why are you in your armor? Were you gonna go train right <em> now</em>?" he asks, voice rising in pitch, crossing his arms disapprovingly at Keith. </p><p>"Yeah, I am," Keith says, starting to shoulder his way past Lance.</p><p>Lance's hand shoots out and grabs his elbow. "It's <em> buttcrack o'clock </em>at night, dude, you're not going anywhere!" Lance hisses, stepping forward so he's all up in Keith's face, skinny, flimsily pajamaed chest pressed against Keith's heavy, armored one. </p><p>Keith scowls at him. "You're not the boss of me, Lance. You're not my fucking<em> girlfriend </em>, " he sneers, mirroring Lance's earlier words as he shoves Lance off of him. </p><p>And then he immediately regrets it, because Lance looks at him with such a sad, broken, pitiful look, a look that Keith doesn't understand at all, but makes his heart ache something awful nonetheless. He doesn't want to see it, so he begins to walk away towards the training room. </p><p>"Well, yeah, but I <em> am </em> your <em> friend </em> , Keith. And as your friend, I'm <em> sorry </em>," Lance says, voice shaking, but with all the determination of a prayer. </p><p>Keith turns around, and Lance is standing there by his door, eyes wet, shivering in his thin blanket, huddling around himself tightly. He looks so <em> cold </em> and <em> small </em> in the dark <em> , </em>all cotton pajamas, fuzzy slippers, and goo, but there's something big about him, something burning bright, strong and hot behind his eyes. </p><p>Keith wants nothing more than to hold him in his arms, but he is afraid, so instead he simply walks over to stand in front of Lance. </p><p>"I'm sorry," Lance says, voice cracking. </p><p>"Go to sleep," Keith says, less firmly than he'd like to say it, but he knows that Lance must be exhausted, and for <em> some </em> reason, he's still standing out here. </p><p>"I'm so<em> , so </em> sorry, Keith," Lance says. Keith sees a tear slip down, dragging a sparkling track through his goo mask, and Lance's bottom lip is quivering, like he's trying to fight back tears, and before Keith can even realize it, he's got his arms around Lance's bony shoulders and is squeezing Lance as tightly as he can, trying to transfer some of his warmth over to him. He buries his nose into Lance's hair (he's still using that same damn Bath and Body Works spray, huh?) and Lance's shaking stills as he tentatively places his gangly arms around Keith's waist. </p><p>"Wait, woah, are you okay?" Lance says, and Keith doesn't know why he's asking, until he feels his own body shaking, and something spilling out of his throat, and wow, he's<em> crying </em>. He doesn't know how long it's been since he's last done that. He holds Lance tight, and Lance is whispering some soft and tender babble into his ear, and he's crying too, pressed damply against him, and he doesn't stop crying until he realizes that Lance's shoulder is totally soaked. He doesn't know how long it's been - just that Lance has been there the entire time, for what feels like an eternity, running his hands through Keith's hair gently, saying it's okay, it's okay, it's okay, I'm here.</p><p>And Keith really does believe it, because Lance is <em> here, </em>boneless in his arms, cooling Keith's burning flesh like fresh spring water. Just Keith and Lance, and nothing else. Keith pulls away with a sniff - his eyes feel swollen and heavy, and his mouth is bone dry, but Lance looks the same as he feels. His mask is now patchy, just spots of goo lingering on his forehead and nose. </p><p>"Your pajamas," Keith says, pinching the wet material off of Lance's shoulder. </p><p>"Wha- oh! That's fine, dude, I don't really care," Lance says, grinning slightly at Keith. He's used to his little siblings getting all kinds of bodily fluids on him - Keith doing it, more than anything, is actually weirdly flattering. </p><p>"Come to bed," Keith says, broad hand sliding down from Lance's back to grasp his hand. His eyes are lidded heavily, shining darkly in the dim, white light emanating from his room. Lance <em> gulps, </em> because he knows it's not a proposition, but <em> wow </em>, it sure does sound like one, huh? </p><p>But Lance isn't even really sure what Keith is <em> actually </em> offering him - like, sleep in Keith's bed? Next to Keith? That's still a whole fucking <em> lot </em> . He had stayed outside of Keith’s room because he knows Keith gets up at the asscrack of dawn to go train, and Lance had hoped to catch him first thing in the morning to at least <em> kind of </em> resolve their issues - he certainly didn’t anticipate letting Keith <em> spoon </em> him in the dead of the night. He’s still trying to figure out if he minds the thought of that or not. </p><p>"To... your bed?" Lance clarifies, trying to figure out what Keith might mean. Simple, guileless Keith. Lance is very afraid that Keith might mean exactly what he's saying. </p><p>Keith grunts at him, and stares at Lance for a second, before he realizes that Lance needs further clarification. </p><p>"I'll be able to sleep if you're there," Keith growls, scowling at Lance slightly. </p><p><em>Huh </em>. Has Keith been having a lot of trouble sleeping? Lance didn't think there was anything that unusual about Keith's sleep schedule - sure, he'd get up in the night sometimes, but all of them did. The Castle-ship is an unfamiliar place, and they're so far away from home, so it's natural that it's going to be a little hard to sleep sometimes. But for the most part, Lance had thought that Keith slept okay. </p><p>He decides to just ask him. "You can't sleep, mullet?" Lance asks, frowning a bit in concern. </p><p>"Never could," Keith says, shaking his shaggy head at Lance. Lance doesn't know why, but it makes sense for Keith. </p><p>Lance hums in response, and strolls into Keith's room, taking in his surroundings. It's totally bare. Hunk's room is neat, with little trinkets from planets they've visited arranged on his desk, his bed made and pajamas folded tidily at the bottom of it, a picture of his parents on the wall, chair at his desk pulled out and askew. Pidge's room (the Goblin Hole) is full of mechanical items, things spilling out of the drawers, gears scattered all over her bed. Allura's room is huge, bursting with dresses and jewels and little gold baubles hanging everywhere. </p><p>But Keith's room is bare, totally empty, save for his little Blade knife sitting on top of the desk, and the single pair of clothes hanging from the chair. The only sign it's ever been lived in is the sheets, slightly damp with the imprint of a sweaty body laying atop it, blanket crumpled up into a crinkly ball at the foot of the bed. Lance takes off his lion slippers and sits on top of the sweaty spot awkwardly, legs criss-cross applesauce. </p><p>Keith slowly removes his armor - first the greaves, then the chest plate, then the gauntlets, revealing inch after agonizing inch of the skintight black under-suit beneath it. </p><p>And he's looking at Lance all the while - not waiting, or expectant, just looking. Sizing up? Appraising? Not even, Lance realizes - Keith just sees what he sees, and Lance will probably never know what that is. </p><p>And then Keith starts to unzip the undersuit, and Lance can't <em> help </em>but gasp. </p><p>The first couple of inches are unzipped, revealing the downy nape of Keith's neck, baby hairs curling around the tops of his pale, sinewy back muscles. Keith turns and squints at Lance.</p><p>"Everything okay?" he asks Lance, voice gravelly with exhaustion. </p><p>"Yes, yeah, yep, just tired! C'mon, get a move on, man!" Lance says, flitting a hand in faux-carelessness at Keith. The corners of Keith's mouth twitch up in lieu of a reply. </p><p>As Keith turns to continue getting undressed, Lance resolves to not look any longer- he thinks his eyes are going to pop right out of his skull if he sees any more of Keith undressing. </p><p>But Lance is nothing if not easily tempted - too bad for him, that when he turns back around, Keith already has his shirt on, and is buckling up his pants. <em> Still </em> , there's something inordinately attractive about the way Keith's square hands flick and tug at the belt buckle, tightening it around his lean hips, twisting it around firmly, and securing. The way his brows furrow in concentration and his rogue tooth is pressing down into his bottom lip. <em> And, oh my god, </em> the inch of visible skin while he does all of this, a strip between the hem of his underwear and the bottom of his shirt, the pale slice of his obliques. </p><p>It's going to be a <em> rough </em> fucking night for Lance. </p><p>Keith, now fully dressed, pulls his gloves back on, and turns to his closet, pulling out the extra blankets and pillows they all have in their rooms. It takes Lance a second to notice that Keith is wearing his regular clothes, not pajamas - he's got his shoes on and everything. What the <em> fuck </em>? </p><p>"Keith... dude... buddy... my man... are you <em> really </em> wearing that to sleep?" Lance asks, unable to help the grimace on his face. </p><p>Keith grunts in response, but Lance sees the tips of his ears turn red. "Dude!" Lance shrieks, grinning. "You fucking wear whole-ass shoes and a whole-ass belt to <em> sleep </em>?" </p><p>Keith turns around, arms wrapped around two fluffy pillows and a red blanket. "We don't know when we might get attacked! Better to be safe than sorry," he growls, squeezing the pillows so tight Lance thinks they might burst. Lance can't help it - he starts pointing and laughing. </p><p>Keith throws the pillows at Lance, and Lance topples over onto the bed from the impact, still cackling, and Keith grins, big and rakish and <em> joyful </em>, and jumps on top of Lance, bracing Lance's hips with his knees and pinning Lance's hands over his head, pressing their chests together. </p><p>Keith's hair hangs around his head, brushing Lance's cheeks, and he's smirking down at Lance, eyes glowing mirthfully. Lance bucks, still laughing, but a little more out of sheer nervousness and confusion now. "<em> Dude </em>, what are you do-ING?" Lance asks, only to be interrupted by Keith's hands at his sides, tickling him. </p><p>Rewind: Keith Kogane is<em> fucking tickling </em> him, laughing and smiling over Lance, eyes bright and carefree, body warm and heavy on top of Lance's own, the heat of his breath fanning out on Lance’s face. It's absolutely fucking <em> beautiful. </em></p><p>And once he stops, granting mercy after Lance has been sufficiently tortured, he reclines back, and he looks at Lance, meeting his eyes with his own supernova violet ones, some kind of joyful, childish hunger flaming out behind them. Keith always looks a bit like that when he's having a good time with Lance, but right now, it looks like something bigger, something hotter, something burning. Lance tries to rationalize - it's the middle of the night, we're alone in space, we've been touching each other - but it's not just that, and he knows it. It’s something, that if Lance let it, he knows that it would melt him down and consume him whole, so he tries to ignore it. </p><p>Keith's eyes are searching, pupils flicking darkly around Lance's face like pinballs. Lance swears they pause whenever they hit Lance's lips, but that's probably just a trick of the light. The insistent, prodding gaze makes Lance's heart squeeze into a chokehold, and they sit there, staring at each other quietly for a couple of ticks, Lance still catching his breath. </p><p>And then, Keith gets off the bed. Lance feels like he's missed something, but he doesn't even know what. </p><p>Keith, ever the gentleman, spreads out a blanket on the floor, right next to the bed, places a pillow atop it, and lays down. </p><p>"Wait, you're not sleeping in the bed?" Lance blurts, strangely disappointed that they're not sharing the bed. He's also confused though - this is Keith's room, shouldn't he just sleep in his own bed? If space is the issue, Lance is pretty happy to take the floor. It's a hard, uncomfortable set up, and Keith already has a hard time sleeping. </p><p>Keith gets up on his elbows and shrugs slightly. "Well, yeah. There's not enough space," he says, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. </p><p>"I can take the floor, Keith," Lance urges, frowning a little. </p><p>And at this insistence, Keith looks almost offended. "Why would I let you do that? Do you not like sleeping in the bed?" he asks, almost like he's scolding Lance for even offering. </p><p>"I- okay, you know what, never mind," Lance says, reconsidering after seeing the aghast look on Keith's face, "I'm good with the bed." Keith's face relaxes and he settles back down onto his grubby floor setup, closing his eyes placidly. </p><p>Lance claps his hands, and the lights flick off, and he's left staring at where he knows Keith is in the dark. He's never seen Keith sleep before - would it be peaceful, Keith's hair fanned out like a halo behind his pale face, or would it be tumultuous, Keith tossing and turning and snarling? Somehow, Keith is both ways at once when he's awake. </p><p>"Is something wrong, Lance?" Keith's steely voice rings out in the dark. </p><p>Lance is surprised - there's no way Keith can see him in this pitch black, right? </p><p>"Uh, no, I'm okay, mullet. Why?" Lance asks. </p><p>"You're staring at me," Keith says, a hint of a dry smile in his voice.</p><p>Huh, Keith can see in this darkness. That's totally a Galra thing, Lance thinks, but he won't say it. </p><p>"I think that I can see in the dark because I'm Galra. You can't see anything, can you?" Keith asks, voice solid and warm, a tether for unseeing Lance. </p><p>Lance shakes his head, grinning. "That's <em> so </em> cool - like a cat, or something, huh? That's some real ninja shit," Lance says, honestly meaning it. <em> Night vision </em> - that's pretty fucking crazy! </p><p>Keith pauses for a couple of ticks, and Lance doesn't know what's going on. </p><p>"Yeah, I guess so. Real ninja shit." Keith says, the phrase rolling unfamiliarly on his tongue. It makes Lance want to laugh. </p><p>Lance grins back at him in the dark. "Good night, Keith," he says, turning over in the bed. </p><p>"Good night, Lance," Keith returns, a smile in his voice, rustling his blanket.</p><p>That night, Keith dreams about the city. </p><p>Usually, if Keith does fall asleep, it's dreamless - heavy, blank emptiness settling over his hollow, exhaustion-burnt eyes. Tonight, though, Keith is standing on the sidewalk, right at the junction next to the bank, right by the church he and his father used to walk by. His father was a halfway religious man - not religious enough to follow all the rituals, like taking Keith to church on Sunday, but religious enough to keep a rosary and pray every night before bed. Keith remembers asking him why once, what's the point of it, back when he was barely even five years old, and his dad had said "For you and your ma'. You do it when you love someone, to keep them safe, " and he kissed Keith's pearly, boneless, child forehead and shuttled him off back to bed. </p><p>And they went to that church in the city one Sunday, the towers spiraling big and endless, piercing up into the sky like a beanstalk. It was just a little after Keith had asked him that question, and Keith was in a little white button down, hair pulled back in a ponytail. It was in the summer, and the city practically oozed sweat and grime, the exposed fire hydrants spurting dirty water all over the sidewalk, the people looking just as dead-fish eyed as ever. </p><p>"Hot as hell," his dad had called it, loosening the top button of his matching button down, patches of sweat on his arms, but he was still smiling, full of love. But Keith was absolutely miserable - he felt constricted in his stupid pants, he was much too hot, and his shirt was itchy and sticky in all the wrong places. </p><p>He remembers throwing a temper tantrum - he wasn't a particularly whiny kid, so that was sort of rare for Keith to do. And for once, his dad had put his foot down with him. He had knelt down to eye level with Keith and grabbed his little, grubby hands in his own big one, and said, "We <em> have </em> to do this, Keith. Put a word in for your ma', got it?" and Keith <em> didn't </em> get it, because she wasn't even here, and he was hungry and tired and sweaty, so what was even the <em> point </em>? </p><p>But Keith understands it now. Keith could never believe in a higher power (he's never really been a spiritually inclined guy, but the mystique of religion is <em> entirely </em> gone now, given what they've all seen up here in space), but he gets why masses of people flock to the idea of one, though, the idea of an infinite, loving being, the beginning and end of everything. </p><p>It's the opposite of space, which lives and breathes and exists, but is a liminal space, the line between life and death. Up here, there are no gods - just you, your body, and the furthest reaches of magic and technology. But Keith really does like the idea of it, the feeling that you can ensure the safety of your loved ones, that no matter where they are, they're just a prayer away, </p><p>Honestly though? Keith feels like, that between the Red Lion and his own two fists, he can accomplish the same damn thing just as well as any higher power can. </p><p>But tonight, Keith is back in front of that church. It looks the exact same as he remembered it - the petaled windows, massive spires, and the sense of empty gloom surrounding it. Nobody goes to church in the city, Keith remembers his dad saying, voice filled with pity, not judgement, because in the city, they don't pray for love.</p><p>Keith looks down at his hands - they are much larger than he remembers, violet, just like his eyes, tufted with fur. Not meant for prayer. Not meant for love. </p><p>And then there is a right hand in his left hand, cool and slender, shining smooth and bronzed like the charm in the center of a hamsa bracelet, and this right hand pushes up against his, joined into the straight, heavenward hands of a prayer, and then those fingers bend and slot between Keith's seamlessly, like they were meant to stay there til the end of time, and there is something lodged in Keith's throat, warm and heavy like liquor, but sweeter, the start of a word, the hilt of a sword. </p><p>Before he can find out what it might be, an alarm blares. Keith stirs awake, and finds Lance's hand dangling off the side of the bed, intertwined in his own like the stems of roses. </p><p>Keith is Galra. Keith can sleep.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. one thousand pink balloons</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>NEW CHAPPP LETS GO!!!!!! hope yall enjoy reading it hehe!!!! &lt;333</p><p>  <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1EpckbLc5sGKPTUkcbIvL3?si=cLnesfAHT6WPBL_cNY789w">spotify playlist for this fic!</a></p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>For Lance, this is when the party ends:</p><p>Keith, flushed red from the Nunvill, the rugged line of his brow glimmering with sweat, a sturdy arm slung around Lance's shoulder, breath hot and sweet in Lance's ear. He's grinning, big and easy, all his teeth on display, jagged and white. Lance wants to touch across all of them, feel the points under the soft pads of his fingertips. Keith's legs are spread out wide, like he owns the place, an expectation, an invitation, his knees, knocking against Lance's own like a promise. Keith's hair, pushed out of his broad forehead, and then he turns his head and his nose is pressed into Lance's hair, overheated and heavy, like he's breathing in Lance's brain itself. Keith's <em> eyes </em>, half lidded and hazy, violet like a million degree inferno, stripping you down to your nothingness.</p><p>Keith looks <em> ethereal </em> , a being forged of steel and flame, heaven in the crook in his nose bridge, the slim bow of his lips, the hard sweep of his shoulders. The kind of boy you want to run away with, a suitcase packed up in your arms, and you, packed into his arms. The kind of boy you can <em> feel </em> , can <em> touch </em>, deep and wild and holy in the night, in a place where he belongs to nobody but the wolves howling their song to the moon, nobody but the howl falling from your lips when he holds you with those hallowed, sturdy, working man hands.</p><p>Because there's something unyielding about even Keith's soft moments, like now, when he's grinning into Lance's cheek, chapped lips curled up against Lance's skin like steam, breath hot like smoke in the summertime. Like there's something that Keith is reaching for, something sizzling, bone-hot inside of Lance's body, the thing that Lance has kept wrapped up in layers, the wool over his heart and eyes, all fragile and sticky like cotton candy. Lance knows Keith doesn't have that thing - he couldn't, not with the way he's so easy about all of this, the way he's just <em> letting </em> his body burn against Lance's own, all corded tendons and angel fire. It simply couldn't happen.</p><p>And Lance, who's been running on glimmer and grins and shots all evening, can't help but stiffen up, because it's <em> Keith </em> , you know? And it <em> hurts </em> , being so close to him, because it's the type of solid, warm body-closeness that feels like a bruise, the kind you want to press harder and harder into until it bursts into ... <em> something else </em>.</p><p>Keith's shirt has ridden up to his ribcage, and he's scratching his jagged nails lazily on the hard plane of his stomach, through the thin trail of hair, the one that leads down to...<em> nope </em>, nope, nope, Lance refuses to go there. Lance wants so badly to melt into Keith's arm, turn his head up, press his nose against Keith's, move his head just a little forward, just barely a millimeter, just so that -</p><p>And then Keith's voice murmurs lowly at Lance, and he's saying something soft, something sweet, something that Lance doesn't want to hear. There's a crash, and Hunk yelling something, gargling on his Nunvill incomprehensibly as he speaks, and then suddenly, Keith pulls away from Lance in uproarious laughter (about what, Lance doesn't even know) and Lance is left there, suddenly stone cold sober, like he's been blindfolded and dunked into freezing water.</p><p>Like the wool has dissolved, the sugar swept away in the flood.</p><p>The bruise now just aches.</p><p>But, hey! The party at least<em> starts </em> much better than this.</p><p>In the morning, after Lance dragged himself out of Keith's bed, he tracks down Coran and Hunk and enlists them to stop Keith from coming down to the training lounge until it's ready . "It's going to be fucking <em> epic </em>," Lance assures Coran, who's twiddling his mustache in doubt. ("What is 'fucking'?" Coran asks, frowning politely. Lance... honestly doesn't know what to tell him.)</p><p>And Lance feels pretty damn confident about that, because let it be said, that if the good Lord gave Lance McClain one gift, it was the gift of being able to take any old, boring party, and make it the biggest, baddest, sexiest, most buck fucking wild event in the whole entire universe.</p><p>And this isn't a claim Lance makes lightly - he knows it's true. Like, when he was thirteen, and <em> some </em> dumb kid in his class, named Chris or Cranch or Crust or <em> something </em> , was holding <em> some </em> lame party. And the only redeeming quality of it was that there were pixie sticks, but they were these off-brand "Fairy Rods", and since nobody had ever seen them <em> anywhere </em>before, nobody wanted to have them.</p><p>Except for Lance, who fucking<em> loves </em> pixie sticks, and do you know what Lance did with his unholy love of pixie sticks?</p><p>He took a "Fairy Rod", pressed it into a clean little line on Crust's mom's granite countertop, and <em> snorted </em> it. And of course, the rest of the children went apeshit.</p><p>Because what thirteen year old, addled with hormones and peer-pressure, teetering on the graceless brink of puberty, doesn't want to feel like they're David Bowie on a bender backstage, you know? Frankly, it would be a libelous claim upon the very nature of thirteen year olds to think, that given a good choice or a stupid choice, a thirteen year old <em> wouldn't </em> take the stupid choice. The thing about adolescents, is that hysteria is inherent to their very being - if one of them does something, the other million will do the same thing, and they will do it far, far, <em> far </em> worse.</p><p>And so, poor Cranch's mother came home to twenty odd children, screaming, crying and nose-bleeding, rubbing their grubby, sugared up fingers all over her fine china, and Lance at the center of it all, the poised, nimble-fingered conductor of their lawless, pre-teen, faux-cocaine orchestra.</p><p>And of course, she called everyone's parents to come pick them up, and when asked about the source of the mass-hysteria, every single one of those mini Benedict Arnolds had pointed at Lance, and when accused, Lance had turned his nose up and said "Well, it <em> was </em> a good time."</p><p>So with this experience under his belt, Lance is a hundred percent certain that it's going to be absolutely fucking <em> amazing </em>. Or at least, it'll be memorable, you know?</p><p>Especially since Coran has managed to coax a reluctant, downtrodden Allura into coming out of her room to attend it - Lance is <em> shocked </em>that she's decided to attend the "Congrats on Being Galra'' party, but she had slunk up to him quietly while he was up on a ladder, hanging up the banner that Coran had scrounged up from one of the old paladin rooms. She's still in her nightgown, hair scattered around her shoulders loosely, and she's clearly tired, but her posture is still as tall and poised as ever.</p><p>"Lance," she calls from below, wringing the gossamer hem of her nightgown anxiously.</p><p>Lance cranes his neck down from his position at the top of the ladder. "Princess!" he calls back cheerily, "I heard you're coming to the party tonight!" he says, grinning down at her.</p><p>She sighs deeply, fanning her snowy lashes against her cheeks, and clasps her hands together primly.</p><p>"Yes, I have decided to attend, at least for a brief period of time. I...frankly, I feel rather ashamed of the way I have been acting recently, so I thought it would be best if I came, even if I am not necessarily fully at ease with Keith's... heritage, yet." she says, looking down at her bare feet. She looks so small from where Lance is standing, all silk and hair and baby pink fingernails, but Lance is proud of her for gaining some perspective on the situation, despite how difficult it has to be for her.</p><p>He climbs down the ladder to face her directly. "That's great to hear, Princess," he says, watching her kaleidoscope eyes lift up to meet his own. Lance doesn't think he'd ever be able to get over how <em> cool </em>Altean eyes are - even Coran's are beautiful, swirling colors like the inside of a marble.</p><p>She frowns, and opens her mouth soundlessly, like she's trying to figure out what to say next. After a few ticks of wordlessness, she finally speaks.</p><p>"I understand that Keith... must be angry with me, given my recent behavior," she says, lips pressed into a frown.</p><p>And at this, Lance raises his eyebrows. Keith isn't angry - he never could've been. They love each other too much to be angry about something as big as this, something that's not even a real conflict, something that's just sad. Allura reminds Lance of Keith in this way though, the way she's resigned herself to the situation - not in the sense that she's given up, but in the sense that she's accepted it with determination.</p><p>"What?" Lance can't help but blurt, and Allura raises her eyebrows back at him, eyes widening a fraction.</p><p>"Keith is... angry with me, is he not?" she says, voice lilting up unsurely, like she's not sure whether Lance understood what she said or not.</p><p>"Yeah, not even a bit, Princess," Lance snorts, "He was just worried you hated him," he says, shaking his head.</p><p>Allura's eyes widen further, and she wells up slightly at that, tears glittering wetly in the corners of her eyes.</p><p>"I could <em> never </em>hate him. However, I am not surprised that he felt as though I may," she says sadly, and her manicured fingers grip the silk of her nightgown with guilt. Lance takes one of her hands, warm and light in his own cold, bony ones.</p><p>"Well, that's why you're coming to the party tonight, right?" he says, smiling encouragingly at her. She blinks rapidly at him, and a small, wet smile blooms on her face back at him.</p><p>"Yes, I suppose that's right. Thank you, Lance" she says, squeezing his hands tightly, then taking a floaty step away from him. His name sounds much prettier on her tongue than it actually is.</p><p>She turns around, and Lance is alone again in the training lounge, streamers scattered around him on the floor.</p><p>Eventually, the evening draws near, and just as Lance is putting up the last set of streamers, Coran barrels into the lounge, eyes frantic, glass bottles of Nunvill clattering in his hands, "I couldn't stop him! He's a battle ship on a war path, course set right for the lounge!" he crows, mustache flaring fearfully (how does it <em> do </em> that?).</p><p>Behind him, Keith enters slowly, hands in his pockets.</p><p>Coran drops the Nunvill bottles on the ground, clattering noisily, and he scurries behind the couch. Keith's not sure what he's doing, or for that matter, what Lance is doing either, until Coran jumps out from behind the couch and eagerly yells "Surprise!", and Lance pinches his nose bridge and says "Great effort, Coran, but it's not a surprise anymore," and <em> oh </em>, it's a party.</p><p>A party for <em> Keith </em>.</p><p>As evidenced by the drooping banner tacked up on the wall that says "IT'S A <strike>BOY</strike> GALRA" the last word lovingly scrawled in Lance's looping cursive, the pin-the-Blade-knife-onto-Keith's-utility-belt game that's taped up onto the wall, the Red Lion piñata that's dangling from the ceiling, and the matching red goo that's been mashed into ceramic bowls on the table in the center of the lounge.</p><p>And honestly? It's the best thing Keith's ever seen in his entire life.</p><p>Lance sighs, and clambers down from the ladder, and Coran slinks out to sit on the couch, already popping open a bottle of Nunvill.</p><p>"Sorry, dude. It was supposed to be a surprise." Lance says, eyes downcast, and at that moment, Shiro and Pidge skid into the room. "Did we miss it?" Shiro asks, panting and resting his hands on his knees, nearly overshadowed by Pidge screeching "SURPRISE!" and almost crashing into the wall with how fast she's running. Shiro catches her by the elbow just before she does, and Lance nods, jerking his head towards Keith, and then Hunk runs in, yelling "Surprise, Keith!", a plate of something purple and jiggly teetering in his hands, and then Allura wanders in, stopping, looking around in confusion, and then gently saying "Surprise?", and Lance's smile is growing, his eyes lighting up with joy.</p><p>And Keith can't help but start laughing, because somehow nobody on this ship has figured out how surprises work, but they're all <em> here, </em> and Lance is <em> glowing </em>, laughing with his long neck thrown back, messy curls and gleaming skin, back arched like a dancer, effervescing like a shaken soda.</p><p>Because Keith's never wanted anything more than this, the flower unfurling inside of his stomach, bursting light into every extremity of his body, the warmth rushing up through his core and spilling out of his throat, enveloping the room in <em> love, </em> plain and true <em> love. </em> When Shiro sees Keith's fingers, hot and itching with numb aggression, and he rests his hand on Keith's shoulder, eyes firm and smile warm, and says "Patience yields focus," and Keith will feel the calm soak through his body like cool water. Or when Hunk catches Keith coming out of training and slides an experimental dish his way with a big grin, or when Pidge will sit by Keith in the lounge and babble technology until she sees his eyes glaze over, and she'll smile with a sigh, and promptly fall asleep against his shoulder .</p><p>Or when Lance and him don't figure out how to use the Altean pool properly, and they'll go and hang upside down with just their toes dipped in the cool water, blood rushing to their heads, and there's something mysterious bleeding heat behind Lance's eyes, his face red with exertion, curls flipped out of his forehead, and Keith can't see anything but Lance, the tip of his pointed nose and the plush of his mouth, and Keith thinks that if this moment were to be the end of everything, he wouldn't mind at all.</p><p>Somewhere along the line, Allura has moved to place a dainty hand on Keith's arm and she's smiling up at him, tears springing up in her shiny eyes and she says, "We love you, Keith," and then a loud nose blowing sound from Hunk, and <em> wham </em>, Keith's on the ground with the force of his hug, and Pidge and Lance immediately dogpile on top, all knobby, squirmy bones and Shiro says "Oh, what the hell," and drops to the ground, grabbing Keith's head for a noogie, and Coran rushes over, face pink from the Nunvill he's been drinking, and he's gathered six full bottles in his hands and with a jolt of his mustache, crows "Paladins, let's get this party started, eh?", and he puffs out his chest and launches into some story about the wild parties of the paladins of old, something about Alfor wrestling twenty Yalmors that makes Allura raise both eyebrows.</p><p>And an hour or so later, after they’ve broken the pinata open and it exploded everywhere with some kind of pungent, spicy goo that’s now smeared all over the floor, (Coran and Allura claim it’s delicious, and nobody believes them), Keith is kind of drunk - he doesn't know what the hell is in Nunvill, but it's <em> strong, </em>because Keith's definitely no lightweight. It seems like Lance kind of is though, because he's had about half the amount that Keith's had, barely a quarter of the way down the stained bottle, but he's wobbly, head tipping back, his arm pressed against Keith's own as they sit on the couch, buzzing against him warmly.</p><p>"Lightweight," Keith says, his own voice sounding like it's coming from across the room.</p><p>Poor Pidge, who's maybe had a couple of sips, is absolutely <em> gone. </em>She shakes her head slowly and says "Noooo," and Keith's not sure if she's responding to him, even though he’s talking to Lance, or just...generally expressing her distaste, and she collapses limply against Shiro, sitting across from them, who's stone cold sober and who sighs and says, "I genuinely don't know why I allowed this to happen," and he picks her up like she's a stuffed animal and says "Bedtime for you," and carries her out of the room as she kicks her feet weakly and giggles.</p><p>Allura, Hunk and Coran, who all seem to be tipsy at most, are engaged in a more-than-lively discussion about Earthen versus Altean hors d'oeuvres next to the goo bowls - Hunk's brow is furrowed like he's in battle, and Allura's clenching her fists into her dress, and Coran is between them, twiddling his mustache so furiously Keith can barely see it. Keith has no clue what might be the conflict, but it’s entertaining as hell to watch the usually so placid Hunk get so feisty, so he wants to let it happen.</p><p>And Lance cackles and squirms closer against Keith, the tips of his ears red, grinning gleefully.</p><p>"Pooooor baby Pidgey. So tiny," Lance says, snickering and knocking his knee against Keith's own.</p><p>"Baby Pidgey," Keith repeats in acknowledgement, and slings his arm around Lance. And instead of stiffening up like normal, maybe because he’s drunk, maybe because he’s finally getting more comfortable with Keith, Lance laughs and kind of sinks into his side, radiating heat into Keith's body pleasantly.</p><p>"I'm so glad we did this," Lance mumbles, cheek smushed against Keith's shoulder. His hair looks fluffy, and he smells like vanilla, and without thinking Keith turns his head and nuzzles into it, breathing in Lance's scent, and Lance twists, laughing like he's getting tickled.</p><p>"Me too," Keith says, feeling himself grin into Lance's hair. "Never really ever had a party for me before,". Lance smells so warm and sweet, like the doughnuts his dad used to bring home from work sometimes - it's making Keith slightly delirious. Lance curls his long legs up on top of Keith's thigh, and Keith wants to run his hand over the knob of his hip, stretched taut with his bending, so he does, fingering the denim seam, and Lance shivers involuntarily.</p><p>"Not even a birthday party?" Lance asks, grinning up at him, eyes open and silky, wide with curiosity, like the ocean lapping affectionately at the beach. Keith thinks for a second about that, while simultaneously trying to commit the sight of Lance, warm and cozy in his arms to memory.</p><p>"Once, maybe" Keith declares after some thought. "When I was a little kid. With my dad."</p><p>Lance cocks his head, waiting for elaboration, exposing the tender jut of his Adam's apple. It's not the kind of thing Keith would usually talk about, but something about the way Lance is curled up against him, gaze sweet and gooey-drunk, it makes him want to talk for hours and hours and hours.</p><p>"Wasn't really a party, though. We had smiley-face eggs, ate the good chocolate cake from the grocery store, and watched Sleeping Beauty. He let me stay up til midnight, too," Keith says. His hand has somehow moved up to Lance's ribcage, and he's rubbing his thumb over Lance's thin shirt, absorbing the skinny boy's body heat greedily.</p><p>Lance hums, considering. "For a little kid? That's a hundred percent a party. Also... you like Sleeping Beauty?" he asks, a giggle bubbling out of his mouth. Keith has the sudden urge to taste his laughter, feel Lance's joy fizz on his tongue. He doesn't know how he'd do that though, so he doesn't do it.</p><p>"What? It's my favorite movie," Keith says, grinning slightly down at Lance, and Lance is full on laughing now, pushing his hair up into Keith's face, the soft curls tickling at his nose.</p><p>"That's <em> so </em> cute... but also so <em> not </em> Keith-y of you, wow," Lance says, tilting his head up so he's making straight eye contact with Keith, head pressed against his shoulder, eyes hazy. "Thought you'd like action movies. Or like... conspiracy theory documentaries or something like that," he says, his tongue slipping out between his teeth mischievously as he grins. </p><p>"Conspiracy theory documentaries? What, like... Bigfoot stuff?" Keith says, raising his eyebrows. Lance nods, grinning sheepishly. "Where the hell'd you get that idea?" he asks, and Lance laughs loudly, burying his face into Keith's shoulder.</p><p>"I thought... well, 'cause back at your shack, you had that board? With all the Blue Lion shit tacked up on it? It looked like one of those big conspiracy theory boards with all the string and crap," he says, voice muffled into Keith's sleeve.</p><p>"Fuck, <em> Lance </em>, that was because my damn brother went missing, not because I'm a tinfoil hat paranoiac, you dumbass," Keith says, trying to contain his laughter, and Lance digs his head further into Keith's shoulder.</p><p>"I'm sor-ry<em> yy </em> ! You can't blame me though, you <em> are </em> pretty fuckin’ paranoid!" Lance says, splaying a thin hand out on Keith's chest as he tries to control his laughter, and Keith thwacks his shoulder gently in faux-reprimand.</p><p>"Am not," Keith says, grinning a little, watching Lance cackle and burrow himself into Keith's neck. It kind of tickles, Keith's not gonna lie, and Lance lifts his head up, and Keith leans his head down to press into Lance's cheek, inhaling into the smooth skin. "Not paranoid at all," Keith reaffirms, relishing in the feeling of Lance's skin brushing against his mouth.</p><p>"Are too! Remember Klaizap, and how you were<em> this </em> close to going totally fucking ape shit at him?" Lance says, cheeks flushing, voice raising in pitch, spindly fingers scrabbling for purchase against Keith's chest. It finds Keith's shirt, and grips on tightly, and Lance dissolves into giggles against Keith, who's now got his nose pressed against the scattered freckles on Lance's jawline, dizzied by the sugar cane sweet-hot rhythm of his breath, layered with bitter Nunvill, the rise and fall of Lance's ribs against his fingers, the fact that if he trails up just an inch or two, he'll feel the thrum of Lance's heartbeat.</p><p>They're so fucking close, and Lance is so fucking warm, his hand cool and soft on Keith's chest, eyes lidded with drunken joy. It's perfect, Keith thinks, and Lance closes his eyes, humming lowly like an engine, his lips barely brushing against Keith’s Adam’s apple, and the vibrations going straight down against Keith's throat and settling into his stomach. And suddenly, watching Lance just breath against him peacefully, pin-thin lashes feathering delicately across his cheekbones, an urgency strikes Keith - does Lance know how perfect this moment is? How perfect it is to even <em>know</em> Lance, to be able to <em>feel </em>Lance, to be in Lance's very <em>presence</em>?</p><p>Does Lance know that somewhere along the line <em> he's </em> become the person that Keith thinks about when he’s fighting, when Keith is laying awake in bed at night, when Keith hears something funny? Does Lance know that Keith wants to share every moment of his life with him, see the universe spring alight through those big blue eyes? And then it hits Keith, what that big flower unfurling in his chest, rapid and steady like it’s in stop motion, <em> actually </em> is.</p><p>"Oh my<em> God </em>, you know something? I think you're my best friend, Lance," Keith says, feeling a drunken grin spread across his face, something warm and heavy coiling in his gut, spreading through his whole body, and the tranquility drops from Lance's face, replaced with a look like broken glass, a look that Keith can't read.</p><p>And at that moment, before he can try to understand Lance’s expression, Keith is immediately distracted by Coran smashing a bottle of Nunvill on the ground, screaming like a man possessed, and Hunk yelling "Lasagna is NOT a cake! Keith, quick, come back me up here!", and Allura curled up in a ball on the ground, hair splayed out behind her, quivering with laughter. And Keith, still high on the infinite joys of friendship and acceptance, immediately swings up from his seat to go defend Hunk's honor. He looks back at Lance, but Lance is back to smiling mildly, leaning sleekly against the couch like a lazy cat, hair mussed and downy, like nothing’s changed at all. Maybe Keith just imagined it, huh?</p><p>And as Keith turns away from him, the fluorescent lights of the lounge spilling onto him like something holy, Lance slinks quietly off of the couch and out of the training lounge, a cold, wet feeling settling like a rock in his stomach.</p><p>And it doesn't make any sense to him, because of<em> course </em> he's honored to have the title of being Keith's best friend, to be someone so important to him! But there's something <em> wrong </em> about it, a slimy chill in his veins, a hollowness plunged straight through the center of his heart.</p><p>And suddenly, Lance is reminded of Rachel's first college boyfriend.</p><p>Ferrari Frank, they called him. Rachel was twenty when Lance was fifteen, and she was going to university just forty five minutes away from home. She didn't meet Ferrari Frank there though - nobody knows where she met a man like that, and nobody's brave enough to find out.</p><p>Rachel's always been the short one of the family (and she's 5'5"!), but she's always been the biggest, with her glittery dresses, nails like claws, and thick curls bouncing all the way down the curve of her back that she'd straighten so it hit down to her butt like a curtain . Her loud, yowling voice, the mountain of flouncy pillows on her cream puff bed, lovely to look at, too fluffy to sleep in, the oversaturated love songs she'd play first thing in the morning. The way she screams a bit when she cries, the way her whole body swivels through the axis of her hips, the vintage tarot cards darted against the wall just above her bed. <em> Death, The Lovers, The Hanged Man </em>.</p><p>And Ferrari Frank was a <em> big </em> man - Rachel says he was twenty, same as her, but they never believed her, because they only ever saw his right arm, white knuckles dusted with blonde fur, the heavy clack of gold basketball rings, wrapping around Rachel like a boa constrictor, and she'd be there, teetering in her heels, looking so small, like his right arm alone could take everything away from her. And Marco, the cool big brother, who was twenty four, had arms that still looked like pool noodles, and when his arms were around Rachel, Rachel looked like a goddamn supernova.</p><p>He'd take her dancing, she said, and he'd drive around her in his big, flashy red Ferrari and kiss her, <em> really </em> kiss her, she said, and he's going to take me to Italy, she said, and he once punched a guy just for looking at me, did you know that? There was blood all over his rings, all over the dance floor, all over my new shoes. And then he fucked me in his car that same night, she said to her old friend Marta, who was on the soccer team with her in high school, standing in the kitchen with an orange juice sloshing around in her manicured hand.</p><p>And the Ferrari itself was the strangest part of all of this, because their driveway was so <em> regular - </em>beautiful in a tender, earthy, homey way, paved with love, but a regular driveway nonetheless. Their little, baby pink house, like the toe nails of the pregnant lady next door, like the petals of a peony, with their little yellow curtains, fluttering like the wings of a damselfly.</p><p>They didn't even have a driveway for Ferrari Frank to pull up in, just a little, flower lined walkway leading up to a little porch with white, squeaky chairs. Sure, Lance is used to seeing the round, elegant lines of classic cars - he's seen Buicks, Chevrolets, even Cadillacs, but Ferrari Frank, sitting in their driveway, was <em> modern, </em>with the sleek, pulled-back, face lifted look of a vehicle you've caught in mid-motion going at a hundred miles per hour.</p><p>If Ferrari Frank didn't know any better, Ronnie said assuredly once, he'd have run over all the flowers without even a second thought. "He still might," their mama had said, sighing and rubbing her arms like their humid living room was any kind of drafty, like she'd seen all of this a million times before and still couldn't do anything about it. </p><p>And then one day, Ferrari Frank stopped parking his big, red car outside their little home.</p><p>And after that, Rachel wouldn't leave her room, would just stay in there, sobbing and screaming like the world was ending, and nothing anyone said or did could get her out of there. She'd stay in there and watch Tom &amp; Jerry reruns and cry and cry and <em> cry </em>, howling at all hours of the night like an injured wolf, and Lance remembers going in there once, and she held onto him, crying so hard his cotton shirt had turned sheer, saying "I'm so cold, it's so cold, please don't leave me, Lance, my heart is broken, Lance."</p><p>And it's not quite the same thing, because of course, Ferrari Frank was a major league asshole, and Keith is nothing if not a good guy, and because, Ronnie had said, in a hushed voice at the dinner table, Rachel was confused about what true love was, thought that the shiny lights and fast car and big hands all over her counted as anything at all. But, Ronnie had clarified, it <em> was </em> true that Rachel's heart was broken, and they had to help her put it back together.</p><p>And for a long time, Lance didn't get it - he didn't think it was possible for a heart to break. It's a heart, he thought, what business does it have breaking?</p><p>But he understands it now, because there was something about Keith's earnest gaze, his warm, sturdy hands on Lance, his crooked, snaggletoothed smile, that made something gratifyingly dirty curl up inside of Lance's heart like a worm. Something sweet like strawberries in the spring, something to hide, lock and key and thrown away into the sea. It wasn't as though he thought Keith was flirting with him, but still, Lance had allowed himself to dream about it: Keith's sharp mouth opening up against his own, tracing a finger down the prominent vein of Keith's left forearm, Keith's violet eyes, soft and tender in the daylight.</p><p>All of that, just for Lance and <em> only </em> Lance. Imagine that, huh? It was silly of him - he sees that, now that it's emerged out of the recesses of Lance's mind and forced into clarity. To think that he could ever bind Keith down like that, cut his hair, snip his feathers - starborne, firewing Keith. Keith, who is bigger than heaven, hell and Earth combined. It’s so <em> stupid </em>, it’d be funny if it didn’t hurt Lance so bad. </p><p>But that thought had crawled its way into his heart, like the big hazelnut in the middle of a Ferrero Rocher, the kind of core, where if you struck right down the center axis it would make a clean line, crack right in two. And Lance's heart? Cracked in two, indeed.</p><p>If Keith knew how Lance felt, what would he do? Would he look at Lance with gentle, sympathetic eyes, and shake his head apologetically, and Lance would sulk off, tail between his legs, too awkward to ever speak to Keith ever again? Or would Keith be disgusted with him, turn those flaming eyes out on him, burn him like a hot poker and cast him aside like he was ash? Lance honestly doesn't know which would be worse.</p><p>Because the crux of it is that Lance doesn't think he could ever go without Keith - Keith is in his heart, filling his lungs like a balloon, swelling his body til it erupts into light. It's an explosion so bright, a supernova burst so fierce, so blinding that Lance can't bear to look at Keith sometimes. Keith, training with Lance, sharp jaw set, his big forehead gleaming with sweat, a hand on Lance's shoulder, a twist, and then leaning over Lance, trapping him in like he knows he's Lance's whole world. Keith, laying next to Lance, their legs slotted together, twisting their fingers together like they belong to the same body.</p><p>It's just … not fair at <em> all </em> that Keith can do all of these things so easily, when it's so damn <em> hard </em> for Lance. It makes his palms sweat, his ears turn red, his mouth go dry. It's <em> gross </em>, if Lance is being entirely honest with himself about how he feels about it. Keith will throw a firm, muscled arm around his shoulders, and Lance's knees will nearly cave in - it's a continuous reminder of how Lance isn't good enough for him. A boy who can't even stand up straight, so struck by love that his own body gives out on him - it's not his right to be side by side with strong, sturdy Keith, who's feet stay rooted into the ground so solidly, the unwavering guardian of the team.</p><p>Because sure, Keith might love Lance, but Lance<em> loves </em> Keith, wants to tuck Keith in his arms, kiss the corners of Keith's rakish smile, wrap himself around Keith like a blanket, wants to melt into him like he’s the sun, all snug and soft and fucking <em> forever </em>.</p><p>And it's clear to Lance now, that Keith doesn't want the same things as him, so all Lance can do is wash his face and go to sleep, just as usual. Let the party continue on in the lounge, let the spots where Keith has touched him bruise up, become deep, purple aches, let his blanket wrap him thinly as he shivers. </p><p>Lance, alone in his own bedroom - at least the party was memorable, wasn’t it?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. silver cross</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>AS ALWAYS i hope you enjoy reading hehe &amp; comments/kudos are ALWAYS appreciated!!!!!</p><p>edit: also, just an fyi for yall ~ chapter 9 might not be coming on time bc ive been kinda struggling - being stuck at home really blows and ive been pretty depressed lately ngl, but im workin on it even if its kinda slow so thank you all for your patience in advance!!! &lt;3333</p><p>  <a href="https://open.spotify.com/playlist/1EpckbLc5sGKPTUkcbIvL3?si=cLnesfAHT6WPBL_cNY789w">spotify playlist for this fic!</a></p><p> </p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Keith remembers the car he had his first kiss in with much greater clarity than he does the boy who was sitting in it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was that bright red, 1955 Ford Thunderbird that first made Keith salivate, because truthfully all he really wanted was to drive it. The thing is, to a fifteen year old boy, there is </span>
  <em>
    <span>nothing</span>
  </em>
  <span> singularly more powerful, nothing more holy in this universe than the relationship between a man and his car. The tendons of your fingers rippling into the pull of leather, that oversized, drag racer displacement engine whining and purring beneath your thighs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The singular, fiber-optic nerve ending you become, one with the car, a beating, oil-slicked heart. You pitch the speed up higher and there's something coiling in your gut, slow and meaty, slinking up like a rattle snake, screeching down the road, gasoline throbbing through your ears and pumping in your veins. And the fun part is about driving cars, is that they don't stop, smacking you in the face just past the brink-of-orgasm feeling, faster, faster, harder, harder, slam your feet to the brakes, catch your breath, pray to the rosary on the dashboard, and go for another round all over again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And the Thunderbird was fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>beautiful</span>
  </em>
  <span>, all brawny, pumped-up lines, a bygone of lightheaded American muscle car futurism, the rocket-ship car, too big, too fast, too electric. All lust and rust and stardust - you kiss the shiny hood of this car every night before you sleep like it's your goddamn championship ring, light bouncing of your knuckles like you're magic, like you're brighter than the sun, like you're the biggest fucking man on the street. And fifteen year old Keith saw that car and swore to himself, that hell or high fucking water, he was gonna have himself a Thunderbird when he grows up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The boy who had the Thunderbird was much less inspiring - some spoiled kid with a rich dad who took a weird shine to broken-fingered, saber-toothed Keith. Was he handsome, smart, nice, athletic? Keith doesn't remember at all - he just remembers bringing him out to the parking lot one day and letting Keith into the driver's seat, and just as Keith started driving, palming the gear shift like he's seen God, the boy leaned over and quickly planted one on Keith with wide, frightened eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And there was </span>
  <em>
    <span>something </span>
  </em>
  <span>about that look that made Keith a little pissed off, but there was something about the tense body heat radiating off of this boy, about Keith feeling like a man in the front seat of his big car, about the four pm sun fanning dimly over the road, and Keith couldn't really tell you what it was, but he thought that was alright, so Keith leaned over in return and bit into that boy's open, sour mouth til dusk bled out. And then the boy looked at him with black eyes and a swollen tongue and had asked for an encore, like what they did was something mighty and glorious, and Keith knew his time being a man in the Thunderbird should end.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And the funny thing was, Keith thought the boy would go to school and make a huge fuss about it, but he stayed silent, and they never spoke to each other again, except for the heavy, wet-lashed gazes the boy would throw at Keith when he thought he wasn't looking, and Keith never really knew what to make of that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's a crush, Keith knows at least that much, and he knows that because it ended with a sputter and not much else, fizzled out like a flat soda. That's how crushes go -  gaggles of girls cooing over the boy in their grade who's the farthest along in puberty, a furtive look here, a bitten lip there, rose colored glasses everywhere. It's sickeningly sweet, all these ostentatious displays of fleeting attractions - she wears his varsity jacket, he takes her to milkshakes and a movie, they go back to his place, and after thirty seconds of shotput glory, he's a man - but none of it's real. Once they get together, they always break up after a couple of months. Always.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he’ll be damned if that stopped him, because Keith loved that Thunderbird - those late nights, breathing cold and hard in his dorm at the Garrison, his roommate snoring like a donkey, and there's the Thunderbird, red like cherries, headlights flashing coyly, engine humming louder, louder, louder. And then the memory of the boy comes next, breathing warm and noisy against Keith, and there's that headrush, the standing on top of a mountain, gun in your mouth, teeth-chattering, explosive feeling in Keith's ribcage, and you know what? Keith loves that too, because whether it's his hands pressed solidly against the wheel, or his hands pushing that boy into the leather seats, it feels the same damn way, doesn't it?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And so one day, Keith walks back up to that boy, who's coming out of class with his slick haired friends, and he says, "That Thunderbird of yours free right now?", the boy laughs at him, a nasty, snarly sound, and his mouth looks so much less red and open than it did in the sunset, and his eyes are wide and frightened, just like how they were when he kissed Keith, and Keith suddenly realizes why it pissed him off so much. And his pomaded, shoulder-padded friends are all laughing and pushing up around him like a rushing tide, and before he knows it, he's got a fist in the boy's face, and this too, the crack of bone against his knuckles, is the same feeling as before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And one of his dumb friends had crowed, with a terrible, sing-song, sneer, "Kogane's in</span>
  <em>
    <span> luuuh-ve</span>
  </em>
  <span>,", and Keith thought that was the stupidest fucking thing he had ever heard, but then again, what did he know?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because genuinely, Keith's not sure what love is - his dad loved his mom, and he has utmost faith in that, but their love was something mythic, a woman flung across the galaxy, to the great beyond, and straight into the arms of her lover. It was a one-in-a-million love, vast and wholly inimitable. Keith doesn't believe in fate, doesn't believe in that kind of a precisely sentient universe, so it's random luck, and that's all it is, and ever will be.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He's never seen anything like it elsewhere though - nuclear families aren't all they're cracked up to be, he finds out in the second, third, fourth foster families he stays with. A husband, a wife, two kids, Keith, and the whip crack of a belt, the broken window. Negative space, gray matter, the way terror clings to your body like sweat, seeps inside your viscera. Like a poison dart frog - is it innate to you? Did you produce it yourself? Is it your fault? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith doesn't even think those kinds of people could ever love someone, not with their red eyes and hands shaking like cigarettes - the wife brings him a glass of milk, and it spills on the floor, and she's screaming, green eyes bleeding into the pink of her whites, and some part of Keith's body, he doesn’t know where, is dull and throbbing, and she cries, howls,  "</span>
  <em>
    <span>Lord</span>
  </em>
  <span>, not even you could love this boy."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And something about that rings strange and true to Keith, because the way she says it isn't cold - it's anguished and high, and straining out of her skinny throat, like she's begging the heavens to take Keith back, to cleanse him in holy fire and scatter the ashes. Like his very being bleeds with inhuman wrongness, a child borne in the valley of the shadow of death. Wholly and truly un-divine.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And some families would see his teeth and knuckles and furry hair and keep him away from the other children in the house. The serpent in the cradle, the poisoned breast - if the Lord is a shepherd, then Keith is the wolf, baring gums in the tall grass, slobbering at the scent of sheep's blood. And Keith knows it's true, because look at his fingers, look at the stains on them, look at the trail of bones behind him, look at the wool on the ground. "Like an animal," one teacher had said in middle school, shaking his head in disappointment as he watched Keith eat. Not a child, not a human, an animal, an alien, an abomination, iron soldier boy, warped beyond recognition in the fire.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All he knows is what his body feels - skin on hot metal, skin on skin, the Thunderbird jerking beneath him, the throat quivering under his teeth, splitting flesh, it's all the same to Keith, a blood-heat  curling up in his stomach either way. Either way, it’s not anyone’s love. Does he want to feel something because he has nobody, or does he have nobody because he wants to feel something?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Whatever's in him - it’s too fucking much. Keith knows that the desperate, craven want in his stomach, his hair-trigger self-control, it's not right, not human, not normal. But Shiro and the Garrison help him channel it into something semi-good, something semi-righteous, something that makes him seem a little more like a hero than he is. Keith, the muzzled hound, big, lean, and all snapping teeth.Thankfully, he can't run loose like this - he's contained, he's cared for, and this is all he could ever ask for. Like this, he's at least little more human, at least little more holy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Keith were to ever be in love with someone, he would come apart, spitting teeth and blood like an open wound. He would do his best - Keith always does his best - but it couldn't ever be enough, not with the dirty coal he has for a heart. The tale of the knight is a tragic one - he can love and love and love, and in the end he dies silently, a skull on the staff. He's not a prince, not the soul, not the lungs - he's the fighter, the wild, metal-bound sword, the body, the muscle, the bone. Break him like a stallion, cut his hair, defang him  - he was never born to stay whole to begin with.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not like Lance -  golden, limber, head-spinning Lance. Even if nobody ever falls in love with Keith, he always has Lance to care for, to protect, to make smile. Even when Lance falls in love one day, and when someone loves Lance back, Keith will be by his side, because even though Keith wants Lance all to himself, he couldn't have that, not with how simply lovable Lance is, how simply whole, simply holy. Clean, soft, piano-fingered Lance. Made of love, spilling tenderness out of every tear. How could someone not be in love with him? Even Keith's mind is full of Lance, stretching on for miles, and miles - it's mind boggling to Keith that nobody's come and swept Lance off of his feet yet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But since joining Voltron, since everyone became his friend, he was able to put all of that aside - having so many friends is unspeakably incredible to Keith, how could he even dare to dream of anything more? Until one day, Keith had showed up late to some Voltron Coalition gala being held on some tropical planet, and there was this alien, all smooth, glimmering, technicolor skin, tall and broad, dripping in jewels and silk - exactly the kind of alien Lance goes crazy for - and they were just... all </span>
  <em>
    <span>over</span>
  </em>
  <span> Lance, like a cheap suit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And yeah, sure, Lance is a big boy who can handle himself, but you can't really blame Keith for being suspicious, you know? Not after the Nyma thing and all. Sure, all this alien was doing was making Lance flower garland after flower garland (how the </span>
  <em>
    <span>hell</span>
  </em>
  <span> do those things stay together?), but... Lance could be allergic to certain species of alien flowers! Or the flowers could be filled with a slow acting poison? Or -</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Possessive, much?" Pidge asks, as Keith glares, moodily watching Lance teach the alien various different fist bumps. He's crushing a slice of sweet melon-y fruit in his fist, the cold juices dripping down the gauntlets of his Blade suit, puddling up in the ridges of it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Shit.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Kolivan's </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely</span>
  </em>
  <span> gonna chew him out for that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What?" Keith snaps, squeezing the fruit pulp even harder in his fist.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Did that fruit flirt with Lance too or something?" Pidge says drily, flicking a finger down at the sunset colored mash in his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"What?" Keith snaps again, attempting to process what Pidge is saying to him, while simultaneously keeping an eye on Lance and the alien.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pidge leans forward, curving her neck to look him in the eye, "Do you wanna.... sit in a tree with him, Keith?" she asks, mouth stretched into a wide, toothy grin, amber eyes sparkling like she's looking at a particularly fascinating line of code, or whatever other weird, nerdy thing that might excite her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>What?</span>
  </em>
  <span>" he says, brain fully short-circuiting now, crossing his arms, inadvertently smearing fruit onto his biceps. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Great</span>
  </em>
  <span> - Kolivan had warned him that these suits were dry clean only. How</span>
  <em>
    <span> incredibly</span>
  </em>
  <span> inconvenient, he thinks, watching the alien press a glimmering, webbed hand to Lance's shoulder, smiling broadly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then Pidge had just... walked away, whistling pointedly, and Keith was left to marinate in melon juice and confusion, watching Lance shoot finger guns embarrassingly at the alien.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Keith genuinely considers what she's saying, because Pidge is smart, and it's true that Keith has always been a possessive person. Like, when he was seven years old, he had this blue stuffed wolf named Kosmo that he took everywhere, even to the bath tub, and he brought it to school one day. And one of the kids in his class leaned over to pet Kosmo's fuzzy little ear, and Keith literally </span>
  <em>
    <span>bit</span>
  </em>
  <span> the kid on the arm. He got in a</span>
  <em>
    <span> ton</span>
  </em>
  <span> of trouble, and Keith was pretty sure that poor kid had to go get a tetanus shot or something.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And that was one of the very few times his dad had ever gotten mad at him ("Keith, baby, you can't just </span>
  <em>
    <span>bite </span>
  </em>
  <span>people whenever you don't want them to do something!"), and Keith had felt so awful and embarrassed about it, because </span>
  <em>
    <span>yeah, </span>
  </em>
  <span>at the time, when that stupid kid had leaned over with a gap toothed grin, grubby hands reaching for </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span> toy, it had felt justified, but his dad had looked so disappointed. And then his dad saw the fat tears welling up in his eyes and his ruddy, quivering cheeks, and had scooped Keith up into his arms and buried his face into Keith's feathery hair and said, "Hey, don't worry, your ma's like that too. Wouldn't have you two any other way."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And sure, that made Keith feel a lot better, but... ultimately, his dad's lesson kind of backfired, because after his dad's death, Keith was left with so few things - just his knife, the shack, ratty, torn-ear Kosmo, his dad's firefighter uniform, his own bruised, ripcord body. Just a lost and found of love.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And ultimately, that's kind of who Keith is as a person - he's never really been one to sit down and map himself to traits and personalities, in the way many people are prone to, with things like the rotations of the planets, the lines on their palms, whether the petals of a buttercup glow yellow on their wrist. It's not a bad thing, that people do that - hell, Keith thinks it's sort of interesting, because Lance freaking </span>
  <em>
    <span>loves</span>
  </em>
  <span> that stuff - but it's always felt too intangible for Keith himself to get into, a little too cerebral.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith couldn't really describe himself in words, not because he's above them, but because he's never had any words to describe his experiences. Lonely, alien, a grain of sand in the wind, the wild, pulsing heartbeat of the stars, the purple bruise blossoming on the underside of his cheekbone - Keith's life has always been contradictions and oppositions. Something so close and so far away, something sitting, slow and heavy, right in the pit of his stomach, and something, warping and twisting and jerking at light speed, a million galaxies over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Microscopic, macroscopic. Either way, it's something Keith can't hold onto, so what he can touch? That's all he's ever had.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the weird part, is that it's never really been a person before for Keith. Obviously, Lance isn't a </span>
  <em>
    <span>thing</span>
  </em>
  <span> he can have - Keith understands that full well. Keith </span>
  <em>
    <span>does </span>
  </em>
  <span>have Lance's friendship, though - the moments when Lance will gently bicker with him, bump their shoulders together, throw up that brilliant, sun-wrought smile at him, those big blue eyes gleaming like</span>
  <em>
    <span> nothing </span>
  </em>
  <span>Keith's ever seen before, nothing in the entire universe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lance's </span>
  <em>
    <span>love</span>
  </em>
  <span>, flowing through his entire body like it's the very cosmic dust that makes him up, entire being pulsing with light. It makes Keith feel dizzy, immobilized like he's being pulled into a wall of sticky-sweet bubblegum, something rolling around inside his skull, something begging to come out, something too big, too bright for words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And it's something that Keith holds onto ceaselessly - sometimes, he'll come back from Blade missions late, adrenaline fading out to a bone deep exhaustion, and he'll sleep in one of the spare nests at the nearest base (apparently, it's habit for the Galra to sleep in literal </span>
  <em>
    <span>nests, </span>
  </em>
  <span>massively fluffy piles of pillows, feathers, and furs - it's the craziest thing that Keith, who's so used to sleeping on hard, shitty, military issue mattresses, has ever experienced in his entire life).</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And even though Keith might be galaxies away from him, he'll think of the feeling of Lance's ribs under his fingers, of watching the long, gilded lines of his legs as he runs, or his body swaying and humming like a wind chime as he laughs. He'll think of the slow </span>
  <em>
    <span>thump thump </span>
  </em>
  <span>of his heartbeat, always so loud, always so rhythmic, and the thought of that sound alone is enough to lull him into a deep sleep, warm and cozy, like Lance is laying in his arms, breathing against him softly, buried into Keith's chest like a dagger. If Keith were to ever remove him, he thinks he'd just bleed out. Go pale, empty, lifeless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So what Pidge is saying </span>
  <em>
    <span>can't</span>
  </em>
  <span> be true, because crushes are fickle, </span>
  <em>
    <span>meant</span>
  </em>
  <span> to fade, nothing like this - not like how Lance is his </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Lance is the hot shower, massaging his tendons after a brutal day of training. Lance is the neon blue solar flare, nipping playfully at the Red Lion's toes as he darts away from a Galra ship. Lance is the lone star flickering in the sky at night over the bright lights of the Garrison. Lance is the little baby blue forget-me-not Keith found growing out on the mesa a mile away from his shack, all soft, dewy petals in Keith's dog-eat-dog desert scape.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Keith is visiting a Blade base, and he's eating the five pound, cold, bloody meat slabs that the Galra consider an essential part of any meal, he thinks about what Lance might have to say about that, how he'd wrinkle his nose and go "Hold the phone, you're seriously </span>
  <em>
    <span>eating</span>
  </em>
  <span> that?</span>
  <em>
    <span>". </span>
  </em>
  <span>Or like, when Keith executes a particularly fancy barrel roll, Lance pops into his head, grinning cockily, saying "Not bad, mullet, but watch </span>
  <em>
    <span>this.</span>
  </em>
  <span>" and Keith knows what he'll do next: promptly roll over and crash into a passing asteroid. Or how when Keith walks, he'll feel his dad's silver dog tags jingling against his sternum, and he remembers the ghost of Lance's fingers grasping at them gently, letting the heat of his skin seep into the cool metal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pidge is </span>
  <em>
    <span>dead </span>
  </em>
  <span>wrong, and Keith knows that, because Lance is so much more than just a warm, secretive body in the leaves, the quivering spine pressed shotgun against the seat of the Thunderbird. Keith wants to know every centimeter of Lance's skin - it's not even just that he's physically attracted to Lance, because sure, he is, he's man enough admit that much, but it's that Lance is </span>
  <em>
    <span>his, </span>
  </em>
  <span>all love and light and long limbs, loose joints and looser lips. It's that he wants to know every part of Lance, every little flyaway thought floating through his head, every sight he sees through those eyes, every wispy baby hair clinging to his forehead, every drop of sweat running down his spine. The freckles blotting his jawline, a collusion of stars.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's the way Lance will hum songs Keith doesn't know in the shower, the way he's all legs and elbows, the way he doesn't stop tapping his feet, the way he'll laugh and then his tongue will poke out between his teeth, the sound-effects he uses to describe battles. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Wham, blam, ka-chow, whomp-whomp, pew-pew. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Somehow, all of this is more than just endearing to Keith - it's </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything </span>
  </em>
  <span>to him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What he feels for Lance is something far greater than mere romantic feelings - it's that Lance is his </span>
  <em>
    <span>best friend</span>
  </em>
  <span>, easily one of the most important people in Keith's life, all big, white-toothed smiles and electric shock eyes, searing like a brand into Keith's core. He's not just some stupid crush. "Sitting in a tree", Keith's ass.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But things have been really weird with Lance, ever since their fight with Zarkon. Lance hasn't really been around, outside of battle - which is so unusual, because Lance is the kind of person who </span>
  <em>
    <span>makes</span>
  </em>
  <span> time, no matter if there's none. Keith will sometimes return from Blade missions during the light cycle of the castle ship, and he'll head over to Lance's room to see if he wants to hang out, maybe go to the pool, race their lions, anything. He'll knock on the door, and Lance will poke his head out, and say "Oh, Keith!" and Keith will say "Lance, do you-" and Lance will say, "Sorry, no can do! Busy as a bee, Keith-o!" and he'll quickly shut the door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or even worse, when Lance occasionally </span>
  <em>
    <span>does</span>
  </em>
  <span> give in and agree to hang out with him - they'll be walking down the hall, and Lance's demeanor will be so... </span>
  <em>
    <span>closed off</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Not cold, per se - Lance is never cold, but like Lance is hiding something from Keith, eyes hard and guarded like Keith is a stranger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And to make things even worse, he'll drag whoever they see walking in the hallway to come hang out with them. Like once, Keith asked Lance if he wanted to come watch Altean movies with him, because one day, in a shocking twist, they found a trilogy of Altean action movies where Coran stars as some Altean combination of the Terminator and Cat Woman. They had only really managed to get through the first two because Lance had nearly broke a damn rib from laughing too hard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then Shiro had come walking down the halls, and Lance had seen him and yelled "Hey Shiro! You busy right now?" and poor Shiro had said, "Hmm, I guess not," and Lance had enlisted him to be a third party to their movie watching, and he sat Shiro between the both of them as a divider, and in dead silence, they watched Coran cock a blaster in a shiny, skintight catsuit, mustache slicked with sweat, growling "I'll be </span>
  <em>
    <span>back</span>
  </em>
  <span>", sentries exploding behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was exactly as painfully awkward as it sounds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And truthfully, it </span>
  <em>
    <span>hurt</span>
  </em>
  <span>, because Keith really enjoys having Lance all to himself, enjoys being able to be the sole person making Lance laugh and smile and kick his legs with glee, watch those pretty eyes glimmer and his face flush joyfully. Keith feels so proud of himself whenever he can make Lance laugh, because he's never really been a funny guy - Keith's always been a little too literal for that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But for some reason, Lance laughs at everything he says, like he's a fucking comedian or something, and he'll swat a spindly hand at Keith's bicep playfully, even though Lance is </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> the funny one, always dropping one-liners and snappy commentary. It feels so good, hanging out with Lance, watching his head tilt back, his curls bounce with glee, the plush bow of his mouth slipping open, and the laughter spilling out like rain water.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And so it hurts like </span>
  <em>
    <span>hell</span>
  </em>
  <span>, because suddenly, Lance is trying to place some kind of unspoken distance between them, and Keith has no fucking clue </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith's not sure if it's because of all the time he's been spending at the Blade lately, but at the same time, whenever he's been back, he's been making an effort to try to spend time with Lance, so it doesn't make sense. Hell, even when Keith is at the Blade, it's </span>
  <em>
    <span>for</span>
  </em>
  <span> Lance, you know? Because when Lance wandered into his room, eyes all cloudy and lost, trying to tell Keith that maybe it'd be best if he left the team, Keith knew he wasn't going to let that happen - Voltron needs Lance, but even more than that, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Keith</span>
  </em>
  <span> needs Lance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or maybe it's because of the lions - maybe Lance, self-effacing dumbass he is, feels guilty for taking the Red Lion from Keith? Feels unworthy, like he so often does? If that's what it is, Keith isn't going to stand for it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But either way, it </span>
  <em>
    <span>hurts</span>
  </em>
  <span>, because all of it, everything he does, every single rotten fiber of his being is for Lance. For Lance, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>only</span>
  </em>
  <span> Lance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And frankly, he doesn't even know how he'd confront Lance about it - even Keith knows it's a little weird to tell your friend, "Hey dude, you're my favorite person in the entire universe, and I want to spend forever with you, and I would do anything for you, and by the way, did I mention that there is not a single star in the galaxy that even marginally compares to your eyes?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's pretty intense, and Keith knows that, but he's always been an intense guy - it makes sense that he'd feel so strongly about his closest friend. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith loves Lance, but is Keith in love with Lance? He doesn’t know - but he also doesn’t think it matters, because he wants the best for Lance, and that </span>
  <em>
    <span>definitely </span>
  </em>
  <span>isn’t himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It all sort of comes to a head once Keith decides he's going to leave Voltron - they dogpile him into a hug, and it's warm and soft, but Lance is still keeping a distance, looking some heartbreaking mix of cautious, desolate and bittersweet at the same time. It's one of those expressions of his that Keith doesn't understand, because of course Keith is sad to be leaving Voltron, sad to be leaving Lance, but...they're still friends, you know? They still love each other, and it's not as though they'll never see each other again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Lance has been so standoffish lately that it legitimately throws Keith for a loop when he shows up at Keith's bedroom door as Keith is packing his things up to leave for the Blade. He's got his jacket on, but he's still shivering a little, wrapping it tightly around himself, and his eyes are red rimmed and shiny, and Keith's heart nearly leaps into his throat at the sight of him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Lance," Keith says, looking up from the bag he's trying to shove his things into.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Lance is </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> fucking confused, because Keith is looking at him with the same solid, earnest gaze that he always does, soft like violets, like he wants to let every word Lance says melt in his brain, like he loves Lance. Keith always looks at him that way - even though the only real conversation they've had lately is the one where Lance tried to leave Voltron, Keith has always looked at him like that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It startles him, because it always makes that nagging little part of his brain pipe up and go "Are you sure he doesn't feel the same way?" and Lance will have to beat it down like he's playing a game of romantic whack-a-mole. And it hurts something </span>
  <em>
    <span>awfu</span>
  </em>
  <span>l too, because like an asshole, Lance has been avoiding Keith, just letting himself marinate in his own feelings of rejection and sadness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Keith, none the wiser to what Lance is going through, has let Lance have his space. He's just waited here the entire time, warm and strong, waiting for Lance to come back to him whenever he's ready. It's so stupidly fucking gallant, and so stupidly fucking Keith that it makes Lance want to cry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And before he can even rein it in, he's sobbing, and Keith looks kind of panicked, but also strangely relieved. He immediately gets up and strides next to Lance, and places one of those firm arms around Lance's shoulders, and immediately, a rush of warmth drips through Lance, like Keith is injecting him with a slow, runny, magma of affection, because, wow, it's been </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> long since Keith has touched him like this, how did Lance ever go his life without this?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Lance, what's going on?" Keith says, voice sinking lowly into Lance's bones. Lance squeezes an arm around him tightly, still too wracked with sobs to speak, and one of Keith's gloved hands slips under Lance's chin, pushing Lance's face up, forcing him to look into Keith's supernova eyes, all hot and tender like a hearth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Lance, c'mon, talk to me," Keith says, brows knitting in worry and tugging Lance closer to him, his palm splaying out against Lance's cheek.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Sorry," Lance says, sniffling loudly, "I'm not crying, my eyes are just peeing," he tries weakly, and Keith sighs deeply at that, looking just as miserable as Lance feels.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Lance," Keith says firmly, and another snotty sob claws its way out of Lance's throat involuntarily. This is so goddamn </span>
  <em>
    <span>embarrassing, </span>
  </em>
  <span>oh my</span>
  <em>
    <span> God.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Truth be told, Lance has no idea what he's doing here - his feet sort of took him to Keith's room on their own. He doesn't know what to say to Keith, because there's a million things that he wants to, but none of them would end all too well. Like, what is he supposed to say - "Sorry I've been avoiding you, I'm just super duper in love with you, cool thanks bye,”? Keith would leave for the Blade immediately and never talk to Lance again for the rest of time.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm so fucking stupid,," Lance chooses to say, because it expresses the gist of what he wants to get across. Keith sort of scrunches his face up at that, and says "Yes, and...?" and oh, </span>
  <em>
    <span>great</span>
  </em>
  <span>, it looks like he's waiting for Lance to continue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lance twiddles his thumbs and shuffles his feet, trying to figure out what he even came here to say, and Keith's hand slides down from around his shoulder to grasping his hand, radiating heat even through his gloves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Lance, you can tell me anything, you know that right?" Keith says, eyes steely, mouth turned down into a concerned frown.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lance sniffs pathetically in response, and wipes his snot with his other hand, acutely aware of how handsome Keith looks right now, and how messy he himself must look in comparison.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, I'm just - uh, I'm really gonna miss you, man?" he says, feeling another bout of tears well up behind his eyes. And at that, Keith pulls Lance into a bone-crushing hug, wrapping him up snugly in sturdy muscle, all warm and immobilizing, like he's trying to melt Lance down into a slippery nothingness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lance buries his head into the crook of Keith's neck, feeling his salty tears puddle up in Keith's collarbone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm going to miss you too, Lance. I'm going to miss you so much," Keith says quietly, running his hand up and down Lance's spine soothingly, his hands pulsating solid heat into every ridge of bone, up and down, up and down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm gonna miss you more," Lance mumbles, eyes heavy and swollen from his tears.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keith squeezes him even tighter and laughs a little, the sound vibrating from Keith's chest into Lance's, coiling up, warm and light into his stomach.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, really? Because I'm gonna miss you the most," Keith says, smiling toothily into Lance's hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lance laughs wetly, and tries to press Keith closer to his chest, tries to absorb as much of his body heat as he can.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They stand there in silence for a few ticks, holding each other tightly, before Keith pulls away, only a little though, and decides to speak.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Can... can I ask you something, Lance?" Keith says slowly, and, </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he actually looks </span>
  <em>
    <span>nervous</span>
  </em>
  <span>, which makes Lance </span>
  <em>
    <span>very nervous</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Uh, yeah, sure thing, hotshot," Lance says, blinking the wetness out of his lashes. Keith kind of stares at him for a good couple of ticks, gaze eyes precise and searching, like he's trying to read Lance's thoughts. Oh God, Lance hopes to </span>
  <em>
    <span>fuck</span>
  </em>
  <span> he can't actually.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I- have you been avoiding me, Lance?" Keith says, grimacing slightly as he speaks, like the words taste bitter on his tongue.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That's the last question that Lance was hoping he would ask, but he understands completely why Keith would ask that, because like, </span>
  <em>
    <span>yeah</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he has been avoiding Keith.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Wha- who, me? Avoiding you? 'Course not, samurai!" Lance says suspiciously loudly. Keith fixes him with a severely unimpressed look.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'll reword that question, then. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> you've been avoiding me, but why?" Keith says, glaring at Lance. It's a mild glare though, just barely overlaying the sadness in Keith's eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Lance feels godawful because Keith's been nothing but kind to him - Keith's the kind of guy that would give him the shirt off his back if he asked - but then again, the issue's always been that Keith is </span>
  <em>
    <span>too</span>
  </em>
  <span> nice to Lance. An arm wrapped around Lance's shoulders, a hand at his lower back, those goddamn eyes, scorching straight into Lance's soul. It's too damn much, and it's too damn easy for Keith, not like Lance, who swears that every time Keith brushes fingers with him, his lungs give out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Um," Lance says, and Keith's arm tightens around his waist. Keith looks tired, but his eyes are blazing with something warm and fierce, something all-consuming. And Lance feels </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> damn bad, but he has no idea how to respond... unless he confesses how he feels to Keith. That'll be awkward and incredibly painful, but... maybe it's best to just rip the band-aid off quickly, huh?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I, uh," and Keith looks at him so softly, so encouragingly, that Lance almost can't do it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>I'msuperduperhardcoreinlovewithyou</span>
  </em>
  <span>" Lance blurts out in one breath, face immediately burning up, fresh tears stinging up at the corners of his eyes, </span>
  <em>
    <span>praying</span>
  </em>
  <span> that Keith won't ask him to repeat it. Or even better, that Keith doesn't understand what he's just said and </span>
  <em>
    <span>doesn't fucking ask further about it</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And in a terrible turn of events, Keith has heard him properly the first time, and a stark blush is spreading all over his face, eyebrows furrowed deeply like he's trying to solve a math problem, and his snaggletooth is nipping into his bottom lip harshly. He sighs deeply, and withdraws his hand from around Lance's waist, pulling over to the other side of the room, and he pushes his bangs out of his face with a rough hand, clearly distressed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Oh, God, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Lance</span>
  </em>
  <span>," he says, voice tinged with something broken and desperate, and Lance wants to cry so bad, but he'll feel like an even bigger asshole if he does, so he bites his tongue so hard he tastes iron.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I'm sorry," Lance mumbles weakly, and Keith looks almost angry at that, and he takes a quick couple of steps over, as though he's about to touch Lance, but seems to think better of it, instead stopping awkwardly a few inches away from him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, no, uh - don't be. I mean, I'm glad you at least told me, Lance," Keith says, hands hovering nervously, like he doesn't know what to do with himself. Doesn’t know what to do about the both of themselves. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a couple of ticks of horribly tense silence, Keith puts his hands in his pockets and sighs deeply.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Look, um, I really, really appreciate that you told me, Lance, and you're..." he takes a deep breath, "really important to me, you're my best friend, but I'm just...  I'm not sure if I'm on the same page as you,... " Keith says. The worst part is that he's still looking Lance in the eyes as he says this, so Lance knows he really means it - it's the </span>
  <em>
    <span>worst</span>
  </em>
  <span>, to have Keith pitying him like this, still showing Lance how deeply he cares for him, even while rejecting him. It's almost cruel, how much Keith loves him in all of the wrong ways.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And as though it's any comfort, Keith adds, all stilted and awkward, "It's also not really a good time to date anyone, you know? What with, uh... us fighting the Galra and all, and me leaving to the Blade. You understand, yeah?" he asks, eyes full of sympathy and affection that he knows isn't reaching Lance, knows that there's no way that they could.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Lance looks at him like Keith has shattered a part of him, a sorry mixture of guilt, bitterness, and pure, unadulterated sadness bleeding out onto his face, and he says “Uh, yeah, okay, cool, I got it. No worries, hot shot. Have fun at the Blade,” shoulders stiff and pulled forward like he’s trying to hide himself, expression blank and washed out, and he claps Keith on the shoulder and walks out. And a part of Keith wants so badly to call after him, take it all back, tell him something, anything, grab him by the waist and kiss him so fiercely, so deeply, like he’s sucking the venom out of a cobra bite, but he </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he simply fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>can’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because even though there's something sinking in his stomach, whipping in him like a tornado, but he's already said the goddamn words, and even though it feels like he's going to puke, Keith knows it’s probably for the best, because the truth of the matter is that once Keith loves Lance, what can he do?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All he can do is love Lance harder and harder and harder with each passing day, push Lance up to the sky and watch him bloom, bloom, bloom. At the end of the day, Keith knows he's not like Lance, not the caramel-sticky, beating heart that he is. Keith's good at a lot of things, he knows that, but he's good at loving Lance like </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>, not good at being loved like </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>- how could he be, compared to someone like Lance, who deserves someone equally perfect as he is, someone sugar-spun and star-studded like he is? Someone who can wrap around Lance like a white rose, soft as snowfall. Lance's very existence makes Keith start to believe in fate, how the heavens aligned so precisely to create such an extraordinary person.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Keith's not like that - he's always the center of attention, in some weird way. Sure, he's brave, yeah, and he can </span>
  <em>
    <span>do</span>
  </em>
  <span> things, can protect everyone, keep them close, but that's all meaningless, mere trivialities in the face of the sheer, velveteen brightness of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Lance, </span>
  </em>
  <span>all petal-precious and silky blue, so incredible that it makes Keith ache. Lance is meant to sit amongst the flowers, the stars, the waterfalls, all the beautiful, heaven-sent things of this universe, the things that move people, the things that are made of love.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not like Keith, and his hard shoulders and his hard fists and his hard eyes. He doesn't know where the sword ends and his body begins (fun while driving, bad while loving) - if he touched Lance like he wants to, pressed Lance so firmly into his body like he wants, kissed Lance with all of his teeth like he wanted to, Keith fears that Lance would break like a china doll. Between the stars and the supernovas, and the endless nothing, Lance is </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and Keith wants that something so badly, would </span>
  <em>
    <span>kill</span>
  </em>
  <span> for it, would </span>
  <em>
    <span>die</span>
  </em>
  <span> for it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's that something that makes Lance the centerpiece of Keith's wildest dreams. Fuck the goddamn Thunderbird - this burning hot in Keith’s core, the pounding in the back of his ribs - it’s the something that's become Keith's everything. He wants to be like Lance, wants to love Lance the way Lance deserves to be loved, wants to carry Lance inside of his heart like a pearl, in his pocket, wants Lance to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>his</span>
  </em>
  <span>, wants to be Lance's. This is what love is, and Keith is too late with it. Too much, too late, too little, too fast. That’s Keith in a nutshell - never quite right, never quite there, never quite human. Never quite divine, never quite enough for true love. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Always the fate of the knight - it looks like it’s just going to be him and his sword forever more, huh? </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>IM SO SO SORRY FOR THIS CHAPTER I HOPE YALL DONT HATE ME FOR IT .... lowkey im a lil mad at keith i had to take a break from writing klance for like three weeks bc this chapter made me so sad to write...</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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